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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27168980">Oh, I'm going to mess this up</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meyers1020/pseuds/Meyers1020'>Meyers1020</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWordsInMyHead/pseuds/TheWordsInMyHead'>TheWordsInMyHead</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I want to live (just not without you) [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, For continuity and because it still applies, Humor (because Murphy's snark is the best), Hurt/Comfort maybe?, Murphy Is An Asshole, Seriously fucking genocide and eugenics is a happy ending?, Still fixing the unmentionable season, The memori baby we all wanted and deserved, Uncle!Murphy, but didn’t get because apparently forced sterilization is okay?, but we love him, fuck jroth, still salty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:15:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27168980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meyers1020/pseuds/Meyers1020, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWordsInMyHead/pseuds/TheWordsInMyHead</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The unraveling of life as Murphy knows it has several possible origins, each as plausible as the last, but he mostly narrows it down to the day everyone comes back to Sanctum following their adventures through the anomaly. There are several others, dating back to the day he fell sick on the Ark, but he could handle the shitstorm that was his life until that day when he was forced to acknowledge that change was coming in ways he had yet to fully comprehend. </p><p>If he’s being honest with himself – and he does consider self-awareness one of his best qualities – Murphy should have known that the day was going to go to absolute shit. It started off poorly; why wouldn’t it get worse? </p><p>Murphy’s Law is rather aptly named, he’s always thought.  </p><p>OR: Murphy adjusting to the idea of being a dad.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Emori/John Murphy (The 100)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I want to live (just not without you) [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956592</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi!! We are back (are you sick of us yet? I hope not).</p><p>Here’s a little teaser prologue of the Murphy POV that Meyers has been promising since it turned into a multi-chapter and got long on us - everything seems to get long on us, I don’t know why we are always surprised. </p><p>Anyways, I hope to have the first official chapter posted Sunday, but for now, here’s something at least. </p><p>Title comes from Imagine Dragons <i>Shots</i>. It’s a great song; this story was heavily inspired by it and their <i>West Coast</i> both of which I highly suggest you go give a listen.  <i>West Coast</i> in particular has been on repeat for both of us this last week.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The unraveling of life as Murphy knows it has several possible origins, each as plausible as the last, but he mostly narrows it down to the day everyone comes back to Sanctum following their adventures through the anomaly. There are several others, dating back to the day he fell sick on the Ark, but he could handle the shitstorm that was his life until that day when he was forced to acknowledge that change was coming in ways he had yet to fully comprehend. </p><p>If he’s being honest with himself – and he does consider self-awareness one of his best qualities – Murphy should have known that the day was going to go to absolute shit. It started off poorly; why wouldn’t it get worse? </p><p>Murphy’s Law is rather aptly named, he’s always thought.  </p><p>He’d woken to the too-bright shine of Sanctum’s double suns in his eyes with a pounding headache after spending the night drinking away the feeling of responsibility that had settled on his shoulders in the absence of anyone better to do it. He still doesn’t understand that one – how is there no one better to do this? Emori, sure, he can understand. She’s deceivingly fierce and quietly brilliant, the perfect combinations for herding sheep and outwitting foxes, but he’s just... him. A guy too tired and jaded to care.  </p><p>Usually.  </p><p>He spent a long time thinking about it the night before and ultimately decided it was Bellamy’s fault. Clarke gets partial credit, of course, but mostly Bellamy.  </p><p>If Bellamy had fucking stayed like Murphy tried to tell him to, Clarke and the others wouldn’t have left, and Murphy wouldn’t be stuck here trying to hold it all together.  </p><p>Clarke gets some of the blame because if he didn’t actually like her kid so much – admire the resilience he sees in her each day that Bellamy and Clarke are gone as she continues to get up, go to school, and live life despite the shit that it has thrown at her – he may have let the place go to hell anyway, just to spite them all.<br/>
As it is, he does, and they did, and here they are.  </p><p>That’s been standard for the last week, though, so it wasn’t a great surprise. No, what should have tipped him off was his unflappable, tough as stone, rock of a fiancé nearly collapsing in a fainting spell for no discernable reason. The only bit of luck he had was that he caught her.  </p><p>She said she was fine, that she just hadn’t had enough to eat the night before, but he knows her, and he knows bullshit when he sees it. Still, she’d smiled at him, told him that he was going to get worry lines if he kept making that face, so he’d grumbled good-naturedly, told her to go eat a fucking apple and left it at that.  </p><p>It's all been downhill from there.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here’s the first actual chapter! There are five full-length chapters, about 5k each. Just an fyi.</p>
<p>In typical me fashion, I couldn’t let this go, and started it before finishing Madi. It was <i>supposed</i> to be a companion piece. (because who didn’t want to see Murphy and Clarke’s conversation in Madi? I did! And some more context on the Bellamy nightmare, which didn’t actually happen, oops. We did manage more Uncle Murphy though.) But then it turned into something more. </p>
<p>Which is awesome, because Words would never leave me to do it alone and she writes the best Murphy ever. (I will die on this hill. I refuse to hear otherwise.) And any time I can get Murphy out of her, I’m happy.</p>
<p>I was also completely obsessed with the idea of a Memori baby, and that needed to happen. Also, still salty. Thanks for reading and for all the encouragement. We really appreciate it. </p>
<p>-Meyers</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The drink before him, only his second this afternoon, is half empty, the taste of the first half still sharp on his tongue as the scent of liquor permeates his senses.  </p>
<p>He thinks the amber liquid may be judging him. It probably is, but since when has he cared what anyone else thinks? The correct answer, the one that has allowed him to survive in this shitty world for as long as he has, is that he doesn’t, so with a shrug, he picks it up and swallows down the rest of it.  </p>
<p>In light of recent events, the accompanying burn isn’t as comforting as it usually is. He thinks about not ordering another one but ultimately does. If nothing else, it makes it look like he’s doing something. He does have a purpose here, and it’s not brooding; he doesn’t brood. He's observing, but he’s not about to admit that. Especially when the primary person he’s waiting for is a preteen. It’s just creepy, put in that context.  </p>
<p>Still, he’s hoping Madi comes by again like she did the day before.  <br/>There’re so many things to learn, to look for, to weigh, now. Considering Madi is probably the most well-adjusted of all the second-gen kids – <i>seriously, how fucked up is that?</i> – she’s his best option.  </p>
<p><i>The fuck has his world come to?</i> </p>
<p>He takes another drink, a smaller sip this time, but a little boost of alcohol none-the-less.  </p>
<p>The kid is surprisingly good company. She’s a little prickly, but only in the mildest sense, with a quick wit and sharp tongue when the situation calls for it. A smirk finds its way onto his face when he remembers the dressing down she gave Raven yesterday. It’s about damn time someone told their resident genius that she isn’t perfect.  </p>
<p>No one here is perfect. They have all done shit that will probably land them matching cells in Hell when the time comes, except maybe her. Madi is still <i>good</i> unlike the rest of them.  </p>
<p>Considering how fucked up her pseudo-parents are, it’s downright miraculous.  </p>
<p>He’s here looking for them, too. Last night, when sleep once again was elusive, he decided to focus on Madi’s problems rather than his own. Bellamy and Clarke being idiots, now that’s something he knows how to handle, and maybe, if he can fix this for her, he’ll feel a little less like a waste of space. Doubtful, but it’s still better than just sitting here drinking every day.  </p>
<p>He can be useful <i>while</i> he drinks now. That’s progress, right? Unfortunately, their presence here would be even more shocking than the little ones, though. They’re not exactly popular these days. So maybe he’s just deluding himself. <i>What the fuck is he doing? </i> </p>
<p>He takes another sip as his thoughts wander.  </p>
<p>His father wasn’t bad. If pressed, he’d admit he was great. His father loved him, deeply. So much that he risked being floated to save him. And get floated, he did. </p>
<p>John remembers the look on his father’s face when he was ejected out of the airlock. He tries not to think of it, has spent years repressing the memory in fact, but it sits at the forefront of his mind now as Emori’s words echo in his ears. Terror was there in his eyes, sure, but John didn’t see an ounce of regret either.  </p>
<p>If only his mother had felt the same.  </p>
<p>He lifts his drink for another sip but quickly puts it back down as his thoughts drift to her.  </p>
<p>She did regret what his father had done to save him, and she made no secret of it. Any love she ever had for him died with his father, replaced with a fondness for liquor that made it all the more easy for her to tell him just how much she blamed him until her newfound love killed her. </p>
<p>He might have considered himself better off for it, but that’s neither here nor there. </p>
<p>If he doesn’t want to be like her, he’s going to have to cut back.  <br/>He stews in the memories, thoughts drifting from the good old days before he fell ill, back when they were a family, to the hell it became after and the person he became to survive it until he can’t take it anymore, and he throws back his third one.  </p>
<p>There’s time left. He doesn’t have to stop drinking today. He flags the bartender for another one.  </p>
<p>Love is a foolish, dangerous endeavor. He should know that by now. How many times has he seen it twisted into something despicable? Still, the knowledge hasn’t prevented him from falling for Emori, nor will it prevent him from loving their child. He already knows that.  <br/>He could never fail to love something that's part of her.  </p>
<p>But damn if it isn’t a risk.  </p>
<p><i>Fuck</i> Now he sounds like Clarke with her grounder bullshit. </p>
<p>If anyone is the prime example of such a sentiment, it’s Clarke fucking Griffin. Between all the people she’s killed in the name of the people she loved and how many times she nearly killed herself for them, love has definitely done her dirty.  </p>
<p>Then again, it’s the only thing that’s saved her ass too. </p>
<p>If Bellamy dumbass Blake wasn’t ass over elbow in love with her, she’d be dead about a hundred times over by now. </p>
<p>Speak of the devil, Murphy thinks, as the man himself walks into the tavern.  </p>
<p>It’s still bizarre, watching the usually over-confident would-be leader walk in with a slump to his shoulders and a hesitant gait, but weirder things have happened. At least this time, the twitchy demeanor makes sense as Bellamy makes his way toward Echo where she sits a few tables away with Raven and Hope. Given what he heard about what went down on Bardo, that’s sure to be one hell of an awkward conversation.  </p>
<p>Raven scowls at Bellamy’s approach. Aside from the fact that Raven’s nursing a grudge about Bardo – and honestly, Murphy’s pretty pissed himself. If Blake had stayed in Sanctum like anyone with half a brain would have, he never would have been taken into the anomaly and all this could have been avoided – she’s also pissed on behalf of Echo. Apparently, at least what he gathered from half-listening to Raven’s rant the other day— the one that Madi eventually saved him from, no wonder he likes the kid— this is the first time Blake has sought out Echo, his (former?) girlfriend since they returned. Having instead spent all his time trailing Clarke like a lost puppy.  </p>
<p>Some things really do never change. </p>
<p>Murphy can’t hear the words exchanged from his seat, but he does see Echo nod stoically as Bellamy’s eyes flick to Raven, before she stands and walks past Murphy, down to the end of the bar. Blake follows her, head hanging low and hands tucked in his pocket, looking like one guilty son of a bitch. He is, but still, Murphy wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not one of them can say they have no blood or betrayal on their hands; who are any of them to judge him? Then again, he and Bellamy are two very different people.  </p>
<p>It works in his favor, though, because they’re in perfect range for him to listen and observe surreptitiously.  </p>
<p>It's awkward, the distance between them and the expectant look Echo wears while Bellamy fumbles to start.  </p>
<p>Bellamy Blake does not struggle to talk to women, particularly ones he’s seen naked; there's a novelty to it that Murphy can't help but enjoy. If he were a better person, he'd feel bad about it. As it is, he's not.  </p>
<p>“Uh, how are you?” Bellamy starts, unsure. </p>
<p>Echo looks thoroughly unimpressed. “Why are you here?” she asks, straight to the point; it's an approach Murphy can respect.  </p>
<p>Bellamy runs a hand through his hair, glancing at her only briefly, though his tone is genuine when he says quietly, “I thought maybe we should talk.” </p>
<p>“What is there to talk about?” Echo asks him. With her impassive face and her posture, her entire demeanor comes off detached. Despite the years in space, Murphy doesn't know her well enough to tell if it’s a bluff. </p>
<p>Bellamy shifts, rubbing his hands together anxiously and exhales heavily. He shrugs as he says, “About what happened. What happens now.”  </p>
<p>She arches a brow at him, “What more is there to say? You said transcendence was more important than us. You proved that. But it wasn’t more important than Clarke. It doesn’t get much clearer than that.” </p>
<p>Bellamy starts to stutter a response. It sounds like an apology, but it's hard to tell with him tripping over his words, stopping only when Echo raises a hand to halt him.  </p>
<p>She sighs, somewhere between exasperated and annoyed, before grudgingly admitting, “It wasn’t a surprise, Bellamy. Nothing changed on the ground. You loved Clarke before Praimfaya. You loved her in death. You love her now.” </p>
<p>Bellamy winces, rubbing his hands together more harshly as he looks away in shame. He doesn’t try to deny it.  </p>
<p>“I loved you,” he says in a small voice as if he knows it’s a weak defense. </p>
<p>“I know that, but this was inevitable.” She pauses, assessing him through narrowed eyes before nodding to herself as if confirming that what she’s about to say is the right decision. “Being second to a ghost is one thing, but this is more than that. As long as Clarke is alive, I’ll never be your priority.” </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he replies genuinely, remorse heavy in his tone. “You deserve better.” </p>
<p>“I do,” she says coolly, but without malice. She’s clearly already made peace with it. “See you around, Bellamy.” </p>
<p>Blake mumbles some pathetic goodbye while she walks away, though his gaze is far away and his feet stay firmly planted to the floor. Part of him pities Echo – three years together, and the man doesn't even watch her go, his mind already elsewhere. </p>
<p>Then again, this has been a long time coming.  </p>
<p>It isn't until Murphy begins a slow clap - he's an asshole, okay? And a buzzed one at that – that Bellamy comes back to awareness, blinking rapidly and looking for the source as if he forgot he was in public.  </p>
<p>Clarke always did have a way of making Bellamy forget about everything else. </p>
<p>Once he's got Bellamy's attention, he raises his glass to him in a toast, “Well,” he drawls - it's a drawl, he's <i>not</i> slurring – smirking at the other man, “that went well.” </p>
<p>Bellamy's brow furrows, studying him. He holds the smirk in place, unwilling to allow the other man to make this about him. He still has a bone to pick with this asshole. It's completely irrelevant to the display he just witnessed, but it never hurts to lull them into a false sense of security.  </p>
<p>“Whatever, Murphy,” Bellamy says tiredly, heaving out a sigh. </p>
<p>Murphy almost feels bad. Bellamy looks like hell, though it’s a marked improvement over the last time he saw him this close; even the darkness of the night then couldn't hide how awful he looked. Still, it's not enough to stop him from grabbing Bellamy's arm when he tries to move past him, probably to run back to Clarke. </p>
<p>“Not so fast, man,” he chides, squeezing a little tighter as he adds, “Sit. Have a drink. It's about time we had a chat too.” </p>
<p>Bellamy hesitates, clearly weighing the offer. Murphy thinks if Bellamy was a little less unstable right now, more like who he used to be, he'd probably shove him off in an instant and tell him to sober up, but those disciples did a number on him it seems because he sighs before sliding into the seat across from him.  </p>
<p>“What do you want?” Bellamy deadpans. </p>
<p>“Just a friendly chat,” Murphy shrugs nonchalantly. “We're friends, right?” </p>
<p>“Are we now?” </p>
<p>He places a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Damn, Blake, why do you have to be that way? You know, with an attitude like that, it’s no wonder I’m your only friend,” he takes a swig, finishing yet another glass, and signals to the barkeep for two more. “Aside from Clarke, but we both know that there’s a whole lot more to <i>that</i> relationship.” </p>
<p>Bellamy huffs, not rising to his bait. “Right. And you care because?” </p>
<p>“I don't,” he lies. Well, mostly lies. He doesn't care who Bellamy decides to be friends with. He does care about other relationships in Bellamy's life.  </p>
<p>There's a quick lull as the drinks arrive, Murphy nodding in thanks and taking another swallow while Bellamy thanks the man politely. <i>Suck up.</i>  </p>
<p>He smacks his lips, enjoying the burn more now that he's focusing on giving Blake a hard time. “I am <i>bored</i>, however, so entertain me. I’m sure there’s something dramatic to the why now of that little heart to heart.” </p>
<p>“Excuse me?” </p>
<p>Murphy scoffs at the offense, leaning back in his seat and waving his hand dismissively. “That's been coming since we found out Clarke was alive. It's about damn time. But the question still stands, <i>why now</i>?” </p>
<p>Bellamy looks away. It takes a minute for Murphy to recognize the shame on his face through the fogginess his buzz has created.  <br/>“Holy shit. Don’t tell me you finally grew a set and did something about Clarke? I honestly wasn't sure you had it in you.” </p>
<p>“Fuck off, Murphy,” he finally snaps.  </p>
<p>Murphy smiles vindictively. <i>Good to have you back, Blake.</i> “I’m not the one who got himself a piece of the Princess before settling with the old flame. Poor form, man. I mean, I get it; I’d probably go for it, but you’re supposed to be better than me.” </p>
<p>“Nothing happened,” Bellamy seethes, his jaw clenching with a ferocity that makes Murphy feel alive.  </p>
<p>“I'm calling bullshit. There's only one thing in the universe that snaps you out of your shit, and that's defending Clarke Griffin.” </p>
<p>Bellamy looks down, eyes settling on the still full glass before him. After a minute of deliberation, he reaches out and knocks it back in one shot. Murphy can't help feeling a little proud. Bellamy's shoulders straighten, and he looks Murphy dead in the eye, exactly like the self-possessed version of him that Murphy is used to, and says, “I moved into Clarke and Madi's place.” </p>
<p>Murphy lets out a whistle. “Damn, don’t you move fast. Didn't take you for another Collins, but hey, Clarke's already died twice, gotta get it while you can, I guess.” </p>
<p>Maybe the alcohol is affecting him more than he thought, or maybe he’s just finally found Bellamy Blake's true limit because, in the next instant, he's face down on the table, Bellamy squeezing the back of his neck and growling in his ear.  </p>
<p>“Shut the fuck up right now, Murphy.” The hand on his neck tightens.</p>
<p>Murphy finds himself laughing. Bellamy hasn't changed a whit, not in over a century. Which is how he knows this next truth is even more necessary. “Hell, even when the world isn't trying to kill her, you can't be sure she won't do it herself.” </p>
<p>The hand holding him vanishes, and he sits up in time to see Bellamy staggering back in shock. Brushing himself off smoothly, he looks back at the other man in condescension. </p>
<p>“Don't act all surprised now. It's not a secret. You think anyone would have left her behind on Bardo if Levitt hadn't told them her plan? That she'd probably blown her brains out before he even freed them from that cell?” </p>
<p>Bellamy flinches back as if Murphy struck him, the look in his eyes turning haunted. Good, Murphy thinks viciously, it should hurt. God knows Clarke's been hurting for a long time without anyone noticing. It's about damn time Bellamy pulled his head out of his ass.  </p>
<p>Without remorse, he continues just as harshly, “It isn't news. Nor is it new. Or did you forget that when her daughter went all dark commander, her solution was to drop to her knees and put a gun to her head?” </p>
<p>“Oh wait,” he pauses for dramatic effect, tapping his chin and snapping his fingers. “That’s right. You ran off into the sunset with your sister and girlfriend before the dust had even settled. The rebel king, leaving the princess behind to clean up the mess. Never mind that she died, floated her mother's animated corpse, and nearly killed herself to save her daughter just hours before.” </p>
<p>He finally lets the game go, stepping into Bellamy's space and putting his anger on full display. </p>
<p>“You. Left. Her. Behind,” Murphy emphasizes each word with a shove. Pain, regret, and self-loathing spasm across Bellamy's features, but Murphy keeps going, cutting deeper. Bellamy needs to hear this and actually <i>get</i> it. “But that's not new either, is it? Take the eclipse, for instance. Too wrapped up in your own shit, busy apologizing to me and avoiding her, to even consider asking yourself what she was doing when she should have been trying to kill us both!” </p>
<p><i>That</i>, apparently, is the line. Bellamy is willing to take the lashing, take the abuse and accusations that he failed her, take it all because he knows Murphy is right, and he hates himself for it, but he's not willing to forgive anyone else for doing the same thing as him.  </p>
<p>Bellamy comes to life in his outrage, foisting Murphy's collar and pulling him until they're face to face, and it's difficult for Murphy to breathe, let alone try to escape.  </p>
<p>“You <i>knew</i>,” he seethes. “You fucking new and you said <i>nothing</i>!? What the hell is wrong with you?” he shouts, drawing the attention of the crowd. </p>
<p>Lucky for Murphy, Clarke has chosen that moment to arrive, rushing over to them and breaking them apart instantly. Or maybe not so lucky because she reels on him the second that he's free.  </p>
<p>“What did you do, Murphy?” she accuses.  </p>
<p>He laughs bitterly because, of course, Clarke Griffin would assume he's the guilty party in this. It couldn't possibly be Bellamy who instigated it. No, it’s never Bellamy. Just like he told Madi, Bellamy will always be the wronged hero in Clarke’s eyes. </p>
<p>Which, <i>okay</i>, he was the instigator, but he's not wrong, and he's not the one who escalated it.  </p>
<p>“Don't look at me. I was just giving our <i>friend</i> a little perspective. You're not the only person who needed a wake-up call.”</p>
<p>Her eyes widen fractionally at the reminder of their own conversation – <i>someone</i> needed to remind her that her life matters, damn it, though he'll never understand how the job fell on his shoulders – but she quickly shuts down any emotional response and backs away.  </p>
<p>“Great,” she says, flat. “You done here?” </p>
<p>“No, actually, I'm not,” he says, making her pause in her reach for Bellamy, who still breathes heavily through a clenched jaw. She turns and looks at him expectantly at the interruption, though she does nothing to hide her annoyance. </p>
<p>“Make it quick. Madi should have gotten out of school by now. I wanted to meet her at home.” </p>
<p>“Perfect. Just the kid I wanted to talk about.” </p>
<p>Clarke's annoyance vanishes, replaced by worry as she swallows compulsively. Even Bellamy's anger slips into concern.  </p>
<p>“Madi,” Clarke chokes, eyes darting around as if her daughter will appear. “What- is she okay? Did something happen?" </p>
<p>Bellamy steps forward, taking her hand and calming the outright panic that Clarke was falling into. Murphy finds himself impressed in spite of himself. </p>
<p>“Calm down. The kid is fine,” he tells them, taking his seat again.  </p>
<p>“Murphy! Tell me!”  </p>
<p>“Relax, Clarke. She just wanted to talk.” </p>
<p>“Why did she come to you?” Bellamy asks suspiciously. </p>
<p>“Because you two are fucking idiots.” </p>
<p>“What does that even mean?”  </p>
<p>“It means,” he explains with derision, “that you two are too self-involved to pay attention.” </p>
<p>“Go float yourself,” Clarke retorts. “I can't believe you'd – Madi is fine. Let's go,” she says, turning to Bellamy. </p>
<p>“Madi is <i>not</i> fine, and that's on you two,” he interjects harshly, halting her. “Look, I don't give a fuck what you do. Fuck each other, get married and have a shit ton of babies, live as platonic life partners – honestly, it doesn't make a damn bit of difference to me – but stop with the back and forth shit. It was annoying as shit back on Earth, but now it's just fucking selfish.” </p>
<p>“You want to talk about our relationship?” Clarke huff incredulously. “I don't have time for this, Murphy.” </p>
<p>“Well <i>make</i> time. Don’t you get it? You've got a good kid, and you're too busy hating yourselves to realize you're making her miserable. If you'd stop trying to protect her from imaginary threats out there and actually spent time with her, you'd see that.” </p>
<p>Clarke scowls, her hackles rising. “Madi is not miserable.” </p>
<p>“I think that's enough, Murphy,” Bellamy interjects, placing a hand on Clarke's back in comfort, a gesture that she immediately leans into. <i>They're fucking ridiculous.</i> “Madi is Clarke's daughter— she’s her entire world. She would never do anything to jeopardize her well-being. She knows what she's doing.” </p>
<p>The implication that Clarke knows best, and by extension that Murphy doesn't, sets him off. He knows he doesn't know how to raise a kid, that's what he's trying to figure out for fuck's sake, but decent examples are few and far between. Madi is the best example there is, and her “parents” are fucked up too. </p>
<p>“Does she? Because it doesn't look like it from here,” he bites back. “Through some act of God, that kid isn't totally fucked up, and if you want to keep it that way, the two of you gotta get your shit together. I don't give a rat's ass how you do it but suck it up. The preteen kid shouldn't have to spend time worrying if Mom and Dad are okay, got it?” </p>
<p>“Wow, who knew you had a heart?” Octavia breaks in, appearing out of nowhere. <i>Damn Grounder wannabe.</i> “Touching as this is, you’re making a scene. Might want to take this discussion elsewhere.”  </p>
<p>Clarke suddenly starts up, looking around like she forgot there were other people around while Bellamy keeps his head tilted down, avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone. <i>Wow</i>, he thinks, aren’t they just a perfect fucking pair; the yin and the yang, black and white, the head and the fucking heart. They make him sick.  </p>
<p>It's a feeling that only increases as he watches Clarke take Bellamy’s hand, squeezing in reassurance until he meets her eyes. Something passes between them— probably something wholesome and perfect (not anything he’d be able to read)— and the tension seeps out of the room. He half expects them to leave without another word, rather hopes that they will, and spare him whatever lecture he’s sure to come, but of course, it doesn’t happen like that; hope is a cruel son of a bitch. He knows that. </p>
<p>Bellamy starts towards the door, Clarke’s hand still attached to his, but she holds her ground, turning to the bar where he’s regained his seat, leveling him with a stern glare. “I know you looked after her while I was gone, she’s told me as much, and I’m thankful for that.” </p>
<p>“Where’s the ‘but’” he asks, signaling the bartender for a refill.  </p>
<p>“There is no ‘but’, Murphy,” she tells him simply, “You did good. You looked out for her, and you’re still looking out for her. You’re an annoying asshole who could learn the benefit of keeping your mouth shut,” she adds, “but you care about her, and I’m glad she has that, so thank you.” </p>
<p>“Someone’s got to,” he remarks coldly, not bothering to look in her direction. He doesn’t do it for Clarke’s fucking thanks, and the fact that she deems it necessary, as though someone like him shouldn’t be capable of such emotions, tempts him to do something stupid like punch Bellamy.  </p>
<p>The other man must feel the same urge since he hears shuffling behind him, but Clarke must intervene, or maybe Octavia, he really doesn’t give a shit because no one attacks him from behind. The door to the tavern opens and closes, signaling their exit, and he allows his shoulders to relax. Good. They can all just go to Hell for all he cares; leave him in peace with his drink and his thoughts.  </p>
<p>“That wasn’t very nice,” Octavia says, plopping down in the seat across from him without a care in the world because, of course, she is. He doesn’t know what’s in their fucking family DNA that makes them all incapable of leaving shit alone, but he really could do without it. He looks over at her and it’s still bizarre, the swift change from Blodreina into this calmer, more level woman, even though he knows intellectually that years have passed for her since she was the Red Queen. “They’re not doing anything wrong.” </p>
<p>Murphy resumes drinking, now that his primary goal for the day has been completed, and he knows the kid won’t be coming by. “Tell it to someone who cares.” </p>
<p>“You do, though, Clarke was right,” she says shrewdly. “Not that I know why. But clearly, you do.” </p>
<p>“Madi’s a good kid. We’ve had to deal with their shit for years. No reason she should suffer like the rest of us.” </p>
<p>“Uh-huh,” she says doubtfully.  </p>
<p>Quiet descends. <i>Thank the fucking stars</i>. It’s peaceful, better. Octavia is another child-rearing puzzle, one he has yet to designate as a success or a failure. On one hand, Bellamy kept her alive, and she was relatively well-adjusted for having grown up living under a floor in secret. On the other, <i>assassin and Red Queen</i>. And now she’s this. It’s hurting his head to think about it.  </p>
<p>“He can’t sleep,” she finally says quietly. He wants to groan. <i>What now?</i> “He worries about her. When we were all staying here, he’d wake up and sit outside her door for hours, making sure nothing happened to her. Levitt said he could hear the nightmares. The same thing, every night, always about Clarke. When we all moved into the houses, and she was out of his reach, it got worse.”  </p>
<p>“We all have nightmares,” he says sarcastically, brushing off her words and repressing any negative feelings they might be stirring in him. He did the right thing. Octavia can fuck off. He doesn’t need to feel guilty about this. “He’s not special.” </p>
<p>“You’re right. We do,” she says, uncowed. “Clarke does too.” She shivers slightly. “Not just about Madi, but about him. Even when we were on Bardo, and he was on the wrong side.” Her eyes go distant for a minute, the same haunted look Bellamy wore minutes ago stark on her face. She shakes it off, turning to level a glare at him. “<i>That’s</i> why he’s there. They’re not doing anything wrong, and you making it seem like they are isn’t going to help anything.” </p>
<p>Murphy looks at her blankly, waiting for her to go away. He doesn't need to know what their deal is; he just needs to know if Madi is a semi-functional kid because they're doing something right or if it's just luck. Not that his talk was an experiment – he really does think they need to pull their shit together for her if for no other reason – but it couldn't hurt to see the girl happier. Someone should be. </p>
<p>Octavia doesn't need to know all that, however. “Still don't care, but thanks for the PSA. Let's not do it again, shall we?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I think I forgot to mention that we finished this already, which is great! Of course. But it’s also bizarre not to be writing in this universe right now. (There are other ideas floating around, because we’re incapable of just letting shit go, but they’re not current WIPs). So… here was your useless A/N! Hope you enjoy! (Although you really need to be thanking Words for this, because I totally slacked off here and she’s the best writing partner ever!)<br/>-Meyers</p>
<p>Totally not slacking, and also like, if one of us is the best, it’s definitely not me. I’d go on, but no one else cares to listen to us discuss our mutual awesomeness in author’s notes so I’ll just talk about the story instead. I love this chapter, you get some Bellamy and Murphy in it, but what I really love is the Murphy and Emori parts. I didn’t realize quite how much I shipped them until I started writing them. I hope you like it too! Next chapter will be next Sunday. I’m going to space them out so hopefully by the time you are done we will have something new ready to post. </p>
<p>Side note, I don’t sign Words. Is that weird? Lol. Do you just assume if there’s nothing it’s me?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Against his better judgment, or maybe in spite of it, Murphy spends the rest of the evening sitting on that barstool, drinking more drinks than he cares to count before finally stumbling back home and into bed, pausing only long enough to whisper a slurred apology to the woman beside him before losing consciousness.  </p>
<p>Emori doesn’t say anything the next morning, not even as they both take turns puking their guts out, once again proving that he doesn’t deserve her. This is becoming a pattern, he knows it, can see it every time he goes back to the bar instead of home to her, but he can’t seem to break it. Or rather, he doesn’t want to break it because doing so would mean confronting the very real changes that are imminently coming to his life, and he’s not ready for that.  </p>
<p>He's at least self-aware enough to realize that.  </p>
<p>Part of him wishes that Emori would yell at him, even with the pounding in his head. He wants her to tell him to get his shit together, remind him that she and their child both deserve a million times better than what he’s giving them at the moment, but she won’t because, like him, she knows that her reprimand would be enough to whip him into shape. At least momentarily.  </p>
<p>If she told him right now that he needed him to stop drinking himself into a stupor and to actually talk to her, he’d do it because, at the end of the day, he loves her more than anything else in this world. The thing is, though that by some miracle, some fuck up by those in charge, she loves him just as much, which means she’s not going to say anything. She is going to keep going with her quiet assurances that it’s okay even when he can see the frustration and loneliness in her eyes, waiting for him to work through his shit at his own pace because she has faith that he will figure it out.  </p>
<p>Because she has faith in him. </p>
<p><i>Fuck,</i> he thinks as wanders through Sanctum. Love, faith, how did he get himself into this mess? Why? He was fine. <i>Fine.</i> All alone, counting on no one with no one counting on him. He was finally free on the ground, free of the guilt and obligation that comes from family, free of the pain of loving people. It's melodramatic, he knows, and honestly, he’s slightly disgusted with himself for the entire meltdown. This is the kind of shit that Bellamy dwells on, not him.  </p>
<p>Or maybe this is him now, maybe this is what life and love have turned him into. Maybe this is what happens when there’s a tiny, helpless, little being dependent on you not to fuck them up. He didn’t know Bellamy before Octavia, but he’s confident that she’s the source of most of Bellamy’s insanity. Clarke too seemed almost like a different person when they came back from space. Maybe being a parent, being a mom or a dad, makes you lose your mind. It would certainly explain a few things.  </p>
<p>He's going to be a dad. God, he’s going to be a dad.  </p>
<p>It’s not like he didn’t <i>know,</i> the night Emori told him is forever ingrained in his mind, but it hits him all at once again just the same. His stomach, which he thought was okay when he left Emori, suddenly feels terrifyingly unsteady. He’s knees feel weak, his hands shaky. He hasn’t been drinking <i>that</i> much. This cannot be from withdrawals, so it’s probably from panic. Fucking panic attacks; it was too much to hope that they would have just disappeared when they come back down to the ground. After all, they’ve never completely disappeared before.  </p>
<p>He stumbles to a stop in between two brightly colored buildings, landing hard on the ground with his legs pulled up to his chest. Pressing his head back against the building, he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to drown out the sound of children breaking for lunch from school. <i>What is he doing? How did he get here?</i> He asks himself the questions again as he tries to regulate his breathing in the way that normally works, and this time he has the answer. It's so fucking obvious a haggard laugh escapes out of his wheezing lungs, chasing away the panic.  </p>
<p>Emori. She's why all of this is worth it. Why he’s going to figure himself out, for her, and for their kid. He didn’t expect to find with her what he found. He wasn’t looking, but now that he’s got it and got it back, he’s not going to lose it again.  </p>
<p>His next breath comes easier, and the one after that even more. He can do this. He's fucking John Murphy; he hasn’t survived literal hell to let this be the thing that keeps him down. He's not this person. He doesn’t give up. He survives. And now, he’s going to do more than survive; he’s going to live. He's going to do this, but first, he just has to figure out how.  </p>
<p>The suns are uncomfortably bright when he opens his eyes, making him scowl, but it’s a normal scowl; his default expression, not the pained, halfhearted grimace he’s been wearing most of the time lately. He blinks his eyes a few times, clearing his vision, and Bellamy and Madi materialize across from him.  </p>
<p>From his position wedged between two buildings, he can’t hear what they are saying, but he can see, and what he sees shocks him. Madi is smiling at Bellamy, beaming really, and not the fake smile that she’s been using around the two of them recently. She doesn’t look tense or hesitant; he can’t see any trace of the fizzled girl from a few days before.  </p>
<p>She looks happy, and he feels... relieved. With everything else going on, he hadn’t realized just how much stake he had placed on her being okay, but now that his personal crisis has been averted for the moment, he can recognize that he needed to know that she could be happy. She’s a good kid who’s been through way more than she should have in her life, and even though he tried while Clarke and Bellamy were missing, he knows that she needs more than he could offer her; she needs parents.  </p>
<p>His eyes move off of Madi to Bellamy who looks, if possible, even more changed than Madi. <i>He can’t sleep</i> Octavia had confessed like it was some secret, and maybe it is, but it’s one that he is in on. Looking at him now, Murphy can see almost no trace of the nearly frantic man he has run into a few days ago. That night, Bellamy had looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack if not already in the midst of one. Although, Murphy doubts that he knew that, and he definitely hadn’t bothered to inform him.  </p>
<p>For all that Bellamy claims to be more well-adjusted than him, he really is just more delusional about how screwed up he is, and while he normally takes great pleasure in reminding the man of his faults, that night he had been consumed with his own issues. That night, the image of Bellamy standing in front of him, sweating and shaky, blurred with the image of Emori telling him she was pregnant with hesitant excitement in her eyes.  </p>
<p>He watches Madi hug Bellamy goodbye before she heads back to school, and Bellamy returns the embrace fully, so different from the failure of a hug, he returned the day they all returned. If he was a better person, he’d be altruistically glad that they both seem to be doing better, but he’s not. Or at least not entirely.  </p>
<p>As he watches Madi walk away, a plan forms in his mind. He needs guidance, and who better to get it from than the man who’s been practically raising one child or another his entire life. Murphy must be able to trick some kind of knowledge out of him, and if it turns out that he doesn’t actually have any wisdom to offer, well, then he might be able to learn what not to do.  </p>
<p>Pushing himself to his feet, Murphy casually strolls into view, instantly catching the attention of Bellamy as he wanted. After what happened yesterday, Murphy would expect most people to just ignore him, that would be the logical thing to do, but of course, Bellamy has never been the most level headed (or self-respecting, if he’s being blunt) guy out there. So instead of letting him pass by, he calls out to Murphy before he gets more than a few steps away.  </p>
<p>“Do you want a mini cake?” </p>
<p><i>Bingo,</i> Murphy thinks, letting a smile slide into his face. He’s so fucking predictable. “What the hell is a mini cake?” Murphy asks, moving forward to look into the box in his hand, “You mean a cupcake?”  </p>
<p>Bellamy rolls his eyes, a hint of a grin on his face that Murphy really doesn’t want to know the source of, he doesn’t want to think about what Bellamy and Clarke get up to with icing. Actually, knowing them, it’s probably some wholesome shit because god forbid they admit they would like to rip each other’s clothes off.  </p>
<p>Pushing thoughts of them and their idiocy aside— he really doesn’t know how the kid stands it. He’s already starting to get a headache. If he had to live with them in a confined space, he’d probably jump out a window; maybe even out a several story high building. Silently, he vows that he’ll never make his kid want to jump out a window to escape him and Emori. And look, he’s already learning.  </p>
<p>Pleased with the progress, he reaches forward to grab one of the ugliest cupcakes he’s ever seen, but before his hand makes contact, the dessert is pulled out of his reach. His eyes snap to Bellamy, who’s watching him with a smirk on his face, reminiscent of how he looked when Murphy first met him.  </p>
<p>Maybe he and Clarke did get funky with the icing; it would explain the sudden change. Good for him.  </p>
<p>He continues to smirk at him, saying nothing, and Murphy feels his goodwill towards the man evaporated. That feeling is only accentuated when he finally opens his mouth, looking at him in amusement like this is all a grand joke. “Are you done being an asshole now?” </p>
<p><i>Why exactly did he care about Bellamy doing better again?</i> Seeing the man smiling at him is borderline creepy after all this type, not to mention annoying as fuck. <i>Oh right, the kid. Why the hell did he have to grow a heart?</i> He was doing fine without empathy before now. He’s perfectly content being an asshole, and he tells Bellamy as much, “No, I think I’ll stick with it, thanks.”  </p>
<p>Bellamy rolls his eyes again, lets out a huff, and then lowers the box back into his reach like the <i>nice</i> guy that he is. For a moment, Murphy considers not taking one just on principle, but honestly, he wants the cupcake. <i>Who turns down a cupcake?</i>  </p>
<p>The rush of sugar does a good job of getting rid of any remaining shakiness from his moment earlier while the calmness of the moment, the companionable silence, and warm air takes care of the rest, but, of course, Bellamy has to go and ruin it. He wouldn’t be him if he didn’t feel the need to talk.  </p>
<p>“You should have told me about Clarke,” Bellamy says pointedly, breaking the ease. It’s a reprimand, but a tired one, lacking the anger of the interaction the day before, which has the unfortunate effect of forcing him to take it seriously.  </p>
<p>Still, he’s not going to go through this all again without some resistance. That just takes all the fun out of it. “Do we really need to drag this up again? There have been at least three new traumas since then, it’s old news at this point.” Bellamy doesn’t look convinced, although slightly less chipper, so he groans and then continues, “There was no point, okay? By the time the dust had settled, Russel had already gotten her. What was I going to say? ‘No worries. She wouldn’t have cared anyway.’”  </p>
<p>He catches the tightening of Bellamy’s fists as tension settles over the other man, so he dials it down, feeling an unfamiliar twinge of guilt. “I caught some of it, alright? Whatever she heard, it made her think she had to do it for Madi. I didn’t think it would be an issue.” <br/>Bellamy’s features twist, a pained sound escaping him. Murphy grimaces in kind.  </p>
<p>“It’s really not my fault. I couldn’t have guessed-” he starts, but then catches himself, tilting his head, “Yeah, alright, she’s Clarke’s kid – of course, she’d be a magnet for trouble too.” Bellamy gives a humorless laugh, which Murphy takes as some kind of forgiveness that allows him to move on to the topic he’s actually here to discuss, “She seems better.” </p>
<p>“She does, doesn’t she?” Bellamy half asks, a smile back on his face, but this time Murphy doesn’t find it nearly as irritating. Fuck, he’s going soft. Thankfully Bellamy continues before he can get lost in a new spiral of parental dread, “We spent the afternoon making the mini cakes yesterday, and it was good, I think. It took her a minute to get into it, almost like she wasn’t sure if it was okay to be happy, but by the end, she was laughing; we all were, even Octavia. I think it was exactly what we needed.” </p>
<p>“Are you saying I was right?” Murphy snarks after a moment because one, he’s an asshole, and he never claimed to be anything else, but mostly because Bellamy looks suspiciously close to either crying or hugging him, and neither of those outcomes is acceptable as far as he’s concerned. </p>
<p>There’s only one person who he’ll endure through tears for, and thankfully, she doesn’t cry… at least not around him. His stomach clenches at the thought of her crying alone— that’s a thing, right? Pregnant women cry more easily? Fuck if he knows, and he’s sure as hell not going to ask Bellamy. He resolves to pay more attention from now on and hopes that doing that will alleviate the guilt building in his chest. </p>
<p> When Bellamy starts to speak again, he’s actually grateful. <i>What has his life come to?</i>  </p>
<p>“Of course not,” he tells him lightly before turning more serious again, “It’s not— what I said yesterday was true Clarke has never not had Madi’s best interests at the forefront of every decision she’s made. I’m not debating that with you, and we weren’t neglecting her, too absorbed in ourselves, I’m positive of that. And as for us hating ourselves...” he trails off with a sheepish shrug, “that’s not anything new.”  </p>
<p>“So, what changed?” Murphy finds himself asking in spite of himself, more interested in the answer than he cares to admit. </p>
<p>“We have been trying for Madi all along, but after you, so kindly yelled at us,” Bellamy says sarcastically, glaring at him and then looking away, “We talked, and well, we decided we need to start trying for ourselves too. We very clearly are not okay, no matter how much we try to pretend we are, and that’s affecting her. I know it affected me with my mom, I could tell when she was going sketchy shit to feed me and O, and I know when I was pissed at the world, O felt that... if we want Madi to be happy, we need to make an effort to be happy too.”  </p>
<p>“Wait are you telling me that the two of you finally figured your shit out?” Murphy asks in disbelief. “Did you finally declare your undying love for each other? His smirk grows at the blatant annoyance on Bellamy’s face. He could leave it. He's knocked the other man down enough to have his fun, but then Bellamy scowls at him, and he can’t resist one more dig. “Are you going to get yourself a wife, Blake? The right wife this time.” </p>
<p>"Shut up, Murphy,” Bellamy shoots back dismissively, seemingly unbothered by the Echo mention. A feat that he didn’t think was coming anytime soon after the awkward conversation he witnessed yesterday, but he is actually doing better. “Like you've got your shit together. Where's <i>your</i> wife anyway? Shouldn’t you be bothering her?” </p>
<p>Murphy keeps his smirk in place, knowing that there’s no way Bellamy can know how close to the mark he is and not willing to give anything away. It takes him a second to get over the unpleasantness of the reminder, but by the time he speaks, Murphy is confident that his voice comes out normal. “Some people can exist in a relationship without your and Clarke’s levels of codependent dysfunction.” </p>
<p>Bellamy rolls his eyes and walks away, which, altogether, is a pretty regular end to their exchanges. It's normal in a way that helps him feel like the ground might actually stay stable under his feet; really, it’s the kind of normal that he hasn’t had since the day all of them returned, and he had to admit to himself that Emori wasn’t as okay as she claimed to be.  </p>
<p>It's nice, helpful. He should take the opportunity while he doesn’t feel like the world is going to fall apart imminently to go talk to her, but then Raven is walking towards him with that angry look on her face, and then Jordan wants to speak to him. It's easy to keep putting it off, especially when he finally spots her talking to Jackson, who is still making it very clear that he doesn’t care to be around him. Going over now would just cause her stress, put her in a situation where she has to defend him, and he doesn’t want to do that.   </p>
<p>He'll do it; he’ll go talk to her and get this all straightened out, just later. Later turns into even later, and then the doubts start to creep back in. His demons claw at his chest, telling him that he’s never going to be good enough, that inevitably, he’ll screw up only next time it will be his kid who pays for his mistakes. He was beaten down a long time ago, his heart ripped from his chest, and there’s nothing he can do now to replace it, so with the feeling of shame etched into his bones, he makes his way back to the tavern and back to his bar stool.  </p>
<p>He stares at the liquid in his glass for hours, ignoring everyone around him, fighting not to take the relief it will offer. He loses the battle.  </p>
<p>One drink disappears and then another as the suns set and the moon rises, but it doesn’t offer the same numbness as before. He can’t even pretend that it does like he had been doing before. With each hour that passes, instead of feeling less, he just feels more. More guilt. More shame. More inadequacy.  </p>
<p>Looking around the room, he tries to spot someone who can help him take the edge off, someone who will give him the relief he needs before everything inside him reaches a breaking point, but there’s no such luck. Of course, there’s not. When has he ever been lucky a day in his life? Where is Raven with her bitchy opinions when he needs her?    </p>
<p>Instead of finding someone who will fight with him, who will not only take his snark but give it back to him in equal measure, he finds a bunch of nobodies. A bunch of random Sanctum originals who are far too likely to bow down to him even though he's clearly not one of their beloved primes. He looks around the room, trying and failing to build up anger at the situation, and then finally, his eyes land on Octavia tucked into a corner.  </p>
<p>Three weeks ago, Octavia would have been the perfect person to vent his frustrations; she had the exact type of self-loathing inside of her to make her a great opponent, but that anger, that hatred, seems to have vanished since she’s returned. There is no world in which he <i>wants</i> to have been sucked up by the strange green cloud and gone on the marry adventure from hell with them. It would have been nice, though, to suddenly be well adjusted, and even god forbid, peaceful.  </p>
<p>He watches intently as Hope approaches her, and Octavia stands up to greet her after a second of hesitation with a hug. Hope returns the embrace with the kind of ease she didn’t when they first returned, and Murphy is forced to admit, what he already knows deep down, that Octavia’s shift wasn’t sudden, nor easy. It was born out of necessity, out of ten years being responsible for someone else, for a child.  </p>
<p>The guilt hits him again, stronger this time as he thinks about Octavia’s ability to change for a child that only calls her Aunty O, and he knows that no amount of alcohol is going to help him tonight. He's not going to be able to bury the feelings in fights, verbal or physical, so he does what he should have just done from the start. He slides off of his stool and goes home, goes to Emori, because at the end of the day, even when he hates it and knows that he doesn’t deserve it, she has the power to make everything feel a little less awful. </p>
<p>As he walks through the dark streets, not empty like they have been in past nights, he accepts just how fucked he is. He knew it a while ago, knew it when he was in space, and avoiding everyone when he was riding up an elevator in a tower filled with people looking to kill him. He knew it from the first moment that she smirked back at him like she knew his crazy, and she liked it.  </p>
<p>Somehow, some time along the way, she found his heart and put it back where his mother ripped it out. He just hopes that it’s enough. That the broken pieces of him that she slowly put back together make him whole enough to do with. He doubts it; honestly, he knows that they aren’t, but he’s tired, every moment of his life was a fight for so long, and now he just wants to go rest beside her.  </p>
<p>The lights are off when he walks into the room, so he tries to be quiet, pulling off his shoes and shedding his shirt as he walks forward. He stops a few steps from the bed, watching her tucked neatly in the blankets from the light of the moon. She looks so peaceful, calm, and content in a way that he knows isn’t any more natural for her than it is for him. He hates the thought of ruining it.  </p>
<p>“Are you planning to just watch me all night like a weirdo, or are you actually going to get into bed?” Emori asks, startling him out of his musings.  </p>
<p>Her back is still to him, but she’s clearly awake, so he knows he should say something. The words seem to stick in his throat, though. He has too many things to say, too many, and not enough. He doesn’t claim that it makes any sense. None of this makes any fucking sense.  </p>
<p>This isn’t his life, not the one he was supposed to get. Murphy shouldn’t have someone waiting for him to come to bed; he shouldn’t have a future child counting on him, but he does, and he can’t keep running away from it, so he forces himself to speak just hoping that she’ll hear the apology in the words he has, “Did I wake you up?” </p>
<p>“No, I was already awake.”  </p>
<p>He lets out a sigh, hearing her unspoken, <i>I was waiting for you</i>, as clearly as he hopes she heard his apology. His feet are moving before his mind registers it, taking him to where he wants to be. He pulls back the covers and then slides into bed, body stiff and unsure how to act with only the faintest buzz for the alcohol still affecting it.</p>
<p>They lay in silence for so long, the half-foot of space between them feeling more like an impassable chasm that he can’t be sure that she hasn’t fallen asleep. Really, he knows that she hasn’t. He’s fallen asleep beside her too many times not to know the nuances of how her breathing changes, but like with their position— a position he’s sure she’s maintained knowingly— it helps him to get what he really needs to say out. “I’m trying.” </p>
<p>She waits long enough to answer that he starts to think he might have been wrong about her being asleep, but then again, that’s probably purposeful too. She knows him, knows that this is hard. “I know.”  </p>
<p>“I’m not sure it’s going to be enough.”  </p>
<p>He lets out a whoosh of breath with the confession, feeling a sort of weightlessness at finally having it out there. The thought has been lingering in the back of his mind since his panic attack earlier, the first one in a long, long time. At least relatively speaking. It was there before, sure. He’s aware that he’s a fuck-up, a disaster waiting to happen, an asshole— he’d argue that self-awareness is one of his better personality traits— but he had let himself forget how broken he is.  </p>
<p>“It will be.”  </p>
<p>“You sure?” he asks, hating himself a little bit more for needing the extra reassurance.  </p>
<p>She turns finally, shifting until she’s looking down at him raised up on an elbow. “Are you doubting me now?”  </p>
<p>“Of course not,” he says, a grin somehow working its way into his face, “You’re the smartest women I know.”  </p>
<p>“Damn straight I am,” she tells him with her own smile on her face, “And I chose you.”  </p>
<p><i>I chose you.</i> He lets the words sink in. <i>She chose him.</i></p>
<p>While they have never actually discussed his panic attacks— or has he let her witness one— nor the more fucked up of his coping habits, he’s under no delusions that she doesn’t know they happen. She’s always known that he was a mess, he’s never tried to hide it, not really, and she’s still here, waiting for him to come to bed.  </p>
<p>She’s not promising him that everything is going to be okay or even telling him that he’s not as broken as he thinks, and that makes it better. He looks into her eyes, and the world starts to feel a little less like it’s going to crush him at any moment. He nods his head slightly, and she nods back. He can do this; he can keep trying. For her, for their kid, for himself, and hopefully, that’s enough.  </p>
<p>It has to be he thinks as she lays back down, this time with her head on his shoulder right where it’s supposed to be. There are a million other things that they need to talk about, and if he were a better person, he’d probably push to talk it all through, but he’s not. It’s been an exhaustingly long day, and he’s fucking tired. Thankfully, they still have time to figure this out.  </p>
<p>His hand brushes across her stomach cautiously, nervously. This is the first time they’ve been this close since she told him each night since then he’s stubbled in at varying levels of drunkenness, falling asleep instantly on whatever surface he landed on first. She tenses slightly when his hand finally makes contact with her still flat stomach, and he instantly pulls it back, but she catches it with her own before he has a chance to get far, placing both of them back on her stomach.  </p>
<p>Neither of them says anything, but the urge to talk about it is there again. He wants to find out if she’s actually doing as okay as she seems to be, yet once again, he pushes the impulse away, and she lets him. He settles back into the bed, content to deal with everything else later, when unbeknownst, his earlier worry comes back into his head and sticks there.  </p>
<p>With an internally groan, he resigns himself to asking what he wants to know, looking up at the ceiling instead of at her. “You haven’t been crying, have you?”  </p>
<p>“What?” she asks, starting against him. He can feel her turn her head to look at him, but he keeps his eyes resolutely away from her, “Crying? Fuck no.”  </p>
<p>Even though he wants to believe her, trusts that she would tell him if she was, or at the very least, not lie to him now that he’s asked, but he can’t shake the feeling that she wouldn’t say anything just because she knows that he’s a mess right now.  </p>
<p>“You would know,” she tells him, sensing his wariness. “Seriously, John, I’m not some martyr. If this kid is making me cry, you’re damn sure going to know about it.”  </p>
<p>“Good,” he says softly, finally finding the courage to look back down at her.  </p>
<p>“Great,” she responds sarcastically, “Now that you’ve established that, can we go to sleep?”  </p>
<p>He lets out a chuckle filled with relief, taking the out that she’s clearly giving him. God, he loves her. For giving him the out, for the sarcasm, and for having the same aversion to tears as him. He’s still worried, still has his doubts and his reservations, but if he was going to do this with anyone, he’d want to do it with her.  </p>
<p>Together, he’s at least mostly confident that they will be able to figure it out.  </p>
<p>Closing his eyes, he groans; he sounds like fucking Bellamy and Clarke with their together bullshit. He can feel Emori looking at him questioningly, but he just shakes his head. A thought like that should ever be spoken out loud. Instead, he just kissed the top of her head. “Let's sleep.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, I'm a little early on the update, but it's done, so why not? We're getting there! Hope you enjoy it.</p>
<p>-Meyers</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Things are better after that. They don’t talk about it— the baby and all that it represents hangs between them like a pink elephant at all times— but they do talk, and that makes everything a little easier. It’s not great — he’s well aware that this whole situation is a house of cards waiting to tumble down on him — but his life isn’t great; great isn’t an achievable goal for people like him, so he’ll settle for not a complete fucking disaster and call it a win.</p>
<p>For the most part, he does better with the drinking. He doesn’t get <i>drunk</i> once in the two weeks, even if he spends more than a few evenings once again sitting at the bar. In fact, he hasn’t had so much as a drop in the last three days. An accomplishment that he knows is really the absolute bare minimum, but that he is rather proud of all the same. He fears though, that his streak isn’t going to last; not with this many people around, being as loud and obnoxious as they are.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know who the asshole was that decided to suggest ‘family’ dinners once a week, but whoever they are needs to be brought before some kind of court and punished because it’s a terrible fucking idea. Nearly a month into them and, despite the noticeable improvements— Bellamy isn’t avoiding everyone’s eyes, but actually sitting, haphazardly smiling with Clarke and Madi; Echo doesn’t look like she constantly swallowed a lemon; Raven doesn’t look like she’s seconds away from punching someone (Bellamy)— it still sucks.</p>
<p>At least he can be assured when he inevitably picks up his drink tonight that it has nothing to do with impending fatherhood. It will be the tedium.</p>
<p>Everyone is so… tame.</p>
<p>It should probably hold his interest, the quiet conversation between Levitt, Gabriel, Gaia and Raven. They’re talking about potentially returning to <i>Earth</i> after all.</p>
<p>(Gaia claims that’s where she was taken when she went missing through the anomaly. Between their whole group, they hit every destination the anomaly stone had to offer, save for the one Gaia ended up on. Murphy isn’t sure what to believe. Monty wouldn't have done what he did if Earth was going to recover. Wasn’t that the point of cryo-sleep? Then again, time travels differently out here – Hope’s existence is evidence enough of the warped time on Sky Ring – and it did always weird him out how Praimfaya seemed to just <i>jump over</i> Shallow Valley the way it did. The anomaly is a literal cloud of fucking mystery, at least its presence would explain why the valley defied the laws of nature.)</p>
<p>As it is, he would rather blow his brains out than be forced to talk about that <i>again</i>. It’s been weeks for fuck’s sake, and there’s no way to figure it out or determine if it’s even possible until they get the computers running again. They’re just going round and round in circles, swapping the same speculation back and forth quietly, making sure the rest of the table doesn’t hear them.</p>
<p>If they figure it out, great. He’ll happily throw his opinion into the ring. But it’s so much fucking talking about <i>nothing.</i></p>
<p>He tunes them out before he can antagonize one of them just to break the monotony. Miserable as the occasion is, it does present him with an interesting opportunity, he realizes, as his eyes fall on Madi and Hope engaging in conversation with one another.</p>
<p>He’s always got one eye on Madi these days whenever she’s around. He can’t help it. Sometime during her pseudo-parents' absence, he unconsciously decided it was up to him to keep her safe. It makes him uncomfortable, like his skin is suddenly too tight, but he can’t shake the feeling of responsibility.</p>
<p>He has no idea who he is anymore.</p>
<p>When his favorite child – even if he didn’t like her (and he strangely does), he respects her enough that she’d still undeniably be his favorite – isn't around for observation, he’s taken to watching Hope, and to a lesser extent, Jordan. Even if the latter two are technically adults, he cuts at least a decade off each of their emotional ages because of the isolation of their childhoods. (He’s convinced Jordan, in particular, lives in cloud la-la-land at least half the time.)</p>
<p>Hope is usually all jagged edges and suspicion – which, yeah, he can relate to – with an added layer of overall awkwardness, like she just can’t quite understand and connect with all the people around her. On the other hand, Jordan is always a little too earnest, too eager to make a connection, friendly in a way that works on most people – the kid reminds Murphy of his namesake in that way, except Jordan hasn’t had the innocence stomped out of him the way Jasper did. <i>Yet</i>, he amends, <i>there’s always time.</i></p>
<p>This is the first time he’s been able to witness all three next-gen kids together.</p>
<p>Looking at the three of them, he once again marvels at just how fucking <i>normal</i> Madi is, all things considered. He shoots a glance at Clarke, who – <i>surprise, surprise</i> – is talking to Bellamy and not paying attention to the younger kids, and wonders for the millionth time how the fuck her kid turned out even semi-functional. He hopes it’s not genetics, because he’s pretty sure if it comes down to that, his kid is fucked. If this shit is in his DNA, anything even half-him would have to be screwed.</p>
<p>Madi would probably be the perfect subject for comparison, if it weren’t for the fact that he never knew Madi’s parents. It’s a moot point, since he has nothing to judge the theory on when it comes to her. Jordan and Hope are better on that front. It could be said that Jordan is a decent representation of his parents, lack of social awareness and common sense aside, but he was solely raised by them his entire life. Not a good basis for nature versus nurture. The kid was lucky enough to have both. Hope, though... she had Diyoza, who was nearly as fucked up as him, but for less than half her life. The years she actually remembers having her mother around are even fewer.</p>
<p>He settles deeper in his chair, ignoring the gnawing urge to order a drink by focusing on the trio of, for his intents and purposes, kids.</p>
<p>Things start off… good. Or, good by any other person's standards. But it makes him feel uncomfortable in his own skin again, itchy almost, how fucking <i>wholesome</i> it is. They're not these people - they're fucked up and broken and dysfunctional – and this shit where they're all getting along and laughing over a shared meal feels inherently wrong somehow. There's always a figurative blade hanging over their heads, <i>always</i>, but it feels like everyone but him has forgotten it.</p>
<p>He can’t forget though, not when Emori is sitting next to him, a secret, unspoken of life growing within her womb. It only gets worse when she leaves early.</p>
<p>Even though they weren't interacting at all through the meal, he still feels bereft when she excuses herself before anyone else, claiming his snoring kept her up all night. It's not true - he's hardly slept a wink the last few days without the alcohol to knock him out – but the excuse garners laughs instead of questions, so he goes along with it, grumbling to make it more plausible. He thinks of following her, but something stops him. She didn't ask him to go, to start, but there are other reasons, ones he's ashamed to admit even to himself.</p>
<p>All the dark thoughts her presence was suppressing turn into living things crawling beneath his skin, waiting to eat their way out and ruin everything.</p>
<p>His saving grace  comes in the form of Hope having a few too many drinks. </p>
<p>(He doesn't want to know what it says about him that he can finally breathe again when he notices the tension setting in, the bitterness creeping into her tone and the biting quality of her remarks. Perversely, he smiles when it comes to a head, relieved for the distraction.)</p>
<p>“Hope,” Octavia says, short. It isn’t quite a reprimand – it's gentler, as if not wanting to call attention to in front of the group – but the judgement is still there in the look she gives. “Why don’t you have some water?”</p>
<p>Hope hesitates briefly, before raising the glass to her lips again and finishing the drink, glaring challengingly at Octavia the whole time. The glass thumps loudly when she drops it back to the table. “I know you missed it, but I grew up. I can handle myself, thanks.”</p>
<p>“I’m trying to help you,” Octavia says, quieter this time. “You’ll regret it tomorrow.”</p>
<p>Hope’s stare intensifies, her jaw audibly clicking as she grinds her teeth. “What would you know about regret? It’s your fault my mother is dead, and you don’t seem to care at all.” She looks around the silent table, at everyone who stopped to listen, making it clear that her resentment isn’t limited to Octavia. “<i>None</i> of you do.”</p>
<p>When no one says anything – <i>they’re fucking pansies</i> – he takes it upon himself to step in, “We’re pretty accustomed to parental death around here.” She pins her stare on him now, and he feels other eyes glaring at him, but he carries on. It wouldn’t be a family dinner without a scene of some kind. “You’re surrounded by orphans. Hell, show of hands, how many of us got to witness it?”</p>
<p>“<i>Murphy</i>,” Bellamy barks, shooting him a glare nearly as venomous as their last confrontation in the bar. He’s about to snark some more, but Bellamy looks pointedly at Clarke and Madi, who’ve wrapped themselves around one another.</p>
<p>He wasn’t worried about hurting Clarke. She’s tough. She can handle it. And besides, he’s still a little irritated with her, even if it’s not as much as before.</p>
<p>But he feels bad at the haunted look on Madi’s face. She’s still just a kid, but he’d forgotten how small she must have been when Praimfaya hit, forgotten that she was alone when Clarke found her, and hadn’t put together how she must have gotten that way. Would she have even known how to take care of a body?</p>
<p>His stomach turns with guilt, the sensation so acute he might vomit.</p>
<p>But Hope steps back into the ring, taking another swing, before he can swallow down the bile and apologize, “Sure, <i>now</i> you’re playing the hero again. <i>Touching.</i>”</p>
<p>Bellamy winces, but doesn’t try to defend himself. <i>Fucking hell, it’s getting old watching him blame himself.</i> It’s bizarre – and fascinating – watching Madi and Clarke both stiffen at the insult. <i>One point for nurture</i>, he notes.</p>
<p>In typical Clarke-fashion, she snaps out of it at the barb – he can <i>see</i> her shoving her own shit down as she comes to his defense – and says, “We’re leaving. Good to see you all.”</p>
<p>She barely glances at them as she rises, pulling Bellamy with her (he notes that she didn’t move to take his hand, probably having been holding it already.) Madi moves in sync with her, ready to go before Clarke even voiced the suggestion. He wonders if she was planning on making them leave anyway. Madi doesn’t glare at Hope or anything overt, but there’s a coolness to her at odds with her earlier demeanor when she bids them all goodnight.</p>
<p>Miller and Jackson take the opportunity to leave as well, the latter glaring daggers at him but refraining from speaking. Jackson has spent as little time as possible in Murphy’s presence since his first outburst at their group lunch and spoken to him even less. Octavia says something low to Levitt, who nods before asking Gabriel if he wants to talk about the anomaly stone some more. The other man takes the hint, and Jordan not so subtly joins them. Slowly everyone trickles out until it’s just Echo, Raven, Octavia and Hope left.<br/>
Silence settles in their wake.</p>
<p>Echo looks at him, her face hard as stone and just as impenetrable. It’s the face of someone trying to give nothing away. <i>Maybe he hit a little too close to home for her too.</i></p>
<p>Raven is scowling at him though. He can see her gearing up to a lecture.</p>
<p>“It’s not like it isn’t true,” he says before she can start. Using the same mask he’s always worn to cover his true feelings, he addresses all of them, “Most of us are the <i>reason</i> our parents are dead. She’s not special.”</p>
<p>“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Hope spits, pushing back from the table so forcefully her chair falls over before storming out.</p>
<p>Octavia watches her go, looking torn, before Echo cuts in, “I’ve got it.”</p>
<p>“You sure?” Octavia asks, but it isn’t disbelieving. She sounds relieved.</p>
<p>“Yeah. We’ve done this before.”</p>
<p>Octavia nods at her and Echo takes off, following.</p>
<p>Sometimes he forgets that Hope, Echo, and Gabriel spent five years just the three of them. The anomaly shit always fucks with his head.</p>
<p>Raven crosses her arms, continuing to shoot daggers at him with her eyes alone, before finally saying, “You’re an asshole,” and leaving herself.</p>
<p>Octavia makes no move to leave, though. She sits there, arms crossed, eyes calculating, and stares.</p>
<p>Ignoring her, he grabs the drink Raven left behind. It's full and every molecule in his body is screaming at him to down it, but he resists. For a long moment, he just stares at it, his desire for the oblivion – from the stress, the strain, the guilt, life – the alcohol offers burning him alive, but Octavia solves the dilemma for him.</p>
<p>Lightning fast, she swipes it from him and downs it.</p>
<p>“Hey!” he protests.</p>
<p>She settles back in her chair, pulling a knife from nowhere and twirling it between her fingers. He assumes it’s supposed to be intimidating. Maybe if he hadn’t known her when she was in a bright-eyed thing chasing butterflies against her brother's wishes – <i>seriously, where did Bellamy go wrong there? Or did he? Was it just Earth? Or was it the Ark that created something deep and twisted in all of them that was just waiting for the right time to emerge?</i> – it may have worked, but he did, so he scowls back, unimpressed.</p>
<p>“I was going to drink that.”</p>
<p>“And now you're not,” she retorts, nonchalant. A moment later the ambivalence shifts, and she leans forward, voice low and serious. Eyeing him intently, she asks accusingly, “Why are you watching us?”</p>
<p>“Just enjoying the show,” he says with his usual snark. Internally, he wonders if he's been that transparent, or if Octavia is simply that paranoid.</p>
<p>“I’m not talking about your usual cynical enjoyment,” she says sharply. “You’ve been <i>studying</i> us.”</p>
<p><i>Transparent, then.</i> Luckily, she doesn’t wait for his response.</p>
<p>“I don't know what your deal is. Quite frankly, if it were just me, I wouldn't give a shit. I’d have no problem hurting you if you crossed me, but you’re watching <i>Madi</i>, and I made a promise I intend to keep. So let's be clear, if you hurt her in any way, I will gut you.”</p>
<p>He might have been content to let her go on her little spiel and be on her merry way, but the accusation ignites his defenses. He's the only one putting in some damn effort to care about her feelings, and he fucking hates feelings.</p>
<p>“I’ve never tried to hurt Madi,” he snaps back. “You can't say the same.”</p>
<p>“You tried to kill her mother. Hurting Clarke is the same thing as hurting her.”</p>
<p>For a moment, Octavia’s accusing face is blocked out by the vision of hurt on Emori’s face when he walked away, unsure how to handle the concept of fatherhood. He shakes it off, focusing on the fight before him. It’s familiar. He can handle bitterness. “What? No concern for your niece, <i>Auntie O</i>?”</p>
<p>Her face tightens, but she doesn't relent. “Hope's right. She grew up a long time ago. She can handle herself.”</p>
<p>“The kid can too, you know. Being commander will do that to you. Shame it was necessary,” he tells her pointedly.</p>
<p>“Enough,” she snaps back. “We're not talking about the past. We’re talking about you, right now.”</p>
<p>He sits back in his chair, adopting an amused expression. He doesn't give a fuck how intimidating she thinks she is, he's not giving her jack shit. She can think whatever she likes.</p>
<p> “Apparently I wasn’t clear enough last time. These little talks? Not. Interested.”</p>
<p>“Tough,” she bites back, rage boiling just beneath the surface, reminding him of the woman who emerged from the bunker once more.</p>
<p>He leans forward, resting on his elbows, goading her a bit. “Fine. Since you're feeling so chatty, let's talk about why Hope blamed you, when the way I heard it, she's the one who dumped the poison that turned Mommy-Diyoza into a statue.”</p>
<p>Octavia purses her lips, saying nothing. If he had a drink – damn, he wishes he did – he'd raise a toast in triumph, but he settles for sending her a malicious grin. “Thought not. Good talk.”</p>
<p>He stands to leave – where the fuck he’ll go, he doesn’t know, but it’s always gratifying to have the last word – but she grabs hold of his wrist. Her steely eyes are fixed on him when he looks at her expectantly.</p>
<p>“She said it, because it’s true. The Disciples never would have known we were there if it weren’t for me,” she says defiantly, a stubborn set to her chin.</p>
<p>He can respect the attitude. Especially since she’s providing him a distraction. He pulls himself from her grasp, but sits back down (because, again, he has nowhere better to be and this is <i>his</i> safehouse). Putting on an air of detachment tells her, “That’s bullshit and you know it.”</p>
<p>She smiles wryly. “It can be bullshit and still be true.”</p>
<p>“When did you turn into your brother?” he asks sarcastically. His face scrunches in disgust. “Or <i>Clarke.</i>”</p>
<p>He expects her to roll her eyes or brush him off somehow, but her face turns solemn. “It was Hope. Wanting her to grow up better than we did."</p>
<p><i>Of course it was the kid</i>, he thinks. Of everyone he’s ever met who truly changed, it always seems to come down to a kid.</p>
<p>Bellamy, shaped by the responsibility of his kid sister, changing his selfish ways and realizing he cared about more than just Octavia when little Charlotte jumped from that cliff.</p>
<p>Clarke, who held herself responsible for everyone and everything, but cared about Bellamy more than the rest, letting him go because the girl she adopted as her daughter was more important than the entire world.</p>
<p>Octavia, the self-righteous, blood-hungry queen, abandoning her ambition and turning into some strange mix of her brother and her friend in an attempt to do better by Hope.</p>
<p>
  <i>Three points for nurture.</i>
</p>
<p>“Low standards, huh? Not hard to be better than the Ark.” He twirls his glass, lost in thoughts of the Ark and all the fucked up shit they did to him, but then he looks over to the woman beside him, and knows that he really has no leg to stand on when it comes to resentment towards them— they might have been happy to let him die, but they never even wanted her to exist. Octavia, at least, doesn’t need to do much to create a better childhood for Hope; after all, what is worse than living life under the floor. “As long as you didn’t shove her under the floor regularly, I think you can say mission accomplished.”</p>
<p>Something flashes across her face, unexpectedly guilty. <i>The fuck?</i> Here he is worrying about how he’s going to do, but if the standard actually is just don’t shove your kid in small spaces whenever necessary, then he’s golden. <i>God, that’s depressing; this is all such a fucking joke. Why did he think he could learn from them?</i></p>
<p>She must see it on his face, because she rushes to explain, “<i>No.</i> Of course not. Just -” she grimaces, before straightening out, that same defiant look on her face as before. Hope may claim that Octavia knows nothing of regret, but he sees it in the defensiveness. She <i>does</i> regret it, probably more than she should be able to bear, but she <i>is</i> bearing it, choosing to carry it and live anyway. He hears it, even, in the level, forced-calm she uses to say, “When the Disciples came for us, I hid her behind the wall. Diyoza called to us in the house, ‘There is no hope,’ she said. And I knew what she wanted from me. It was all either of us cared about, at that point, that Hope was safe.”</p>
<p>“Kid sounds lucky to me,” Murphy muses, not looking at her, “You and her mom were willing to die to keep her safe, to make sure that she was okay. What more could a kid ever ask for?” Against his will, images of his father flash behind his eyes. John can see the happiness on his face when the fever started to subside, and he was able to eat again. For a long time, he hated his father for being willing to sacrifice himself like that— and he still thinks it was a stupid fucking choice— but now, now he gets it too. It’s all a parent can do. “What’s there to blame you for?”</p>
<p>“She was safe, but she was <i>ten</i> when we disappeared. Ten and left hiding behind a wall, waiting to come out and find out her whole life had disappeared. Because I couldn’t let my brother go.” She looks away from him, failing to meet his eyes for possibly the first time since they began their head to head. “I tried to get back to him, for years, until Diyoza stopped me one day. She said that Hope needed me, and I knew she was right.” She turns back to him, eyes wide and pleading, like a much younger version of herself. “I never planned on <i>leaving her</i>, not really. I was going to bring them back – Bellamy, and Clarke and Madi.”</p>
<p>“What about me?” he snarks because he’s an asshole, but also because this is getting far too close to an emotional heart to heart for his sanity. If he was ready for this kind of conversation, he’d be having it with Emori, not her. Thoughts of Emori, probably sitting alone in their room waiting for him, twist the knife inside of him, so he twists back. “I get the lack of Echo— it’s shitty, but we all saw that coming a century ago.”</p>
<p>She rolls her eyes – decidedly <i>not</i> the reaction he was aiming for. He was hoping to rile her again, take the joke for a dismissal and get her to snap at him to take it seriously, but of course she takes the fucking high road. She really is too much like Bellamy nowadays.</p>
<p>As if he hadn’t interrupted in the first place, she carries on, “I <i>missed</i> him, and I finally understood how he must have felt about me. I wanted us to be together. I wanted Hope to have everything, and Bellamy is the best. Why wouldn’t she be better off with him?” She shakes her head then. He’s never heard her talk so much, but he doesn’t interrupt. <i>What would be the point anyways?</i> She clearly needs to talk about this, so it might as well be him who listens. “But it was selfish, because I couldn’t guarantee I’d come back, and they needed me there. So, I let that go and decided to be whatever I could for her. But I wrote Bellamy a note, telling him I understood now and how much he taught me about loving someone. How I finally understood what Clarke did for Madi. I threw it into the anomaly.”</p>
<p>“So your great sin is deciding to stay for the kid you loved, saying goodbye to your only family once and for all?” Murphy asks incredulously, finally engaging in the conversation, “Well, fuck me. You’re truly the monster you think you are,” he deadpans.</p>
<p>For a moment she balks, stuttering. It’s a new look on her. He wants to laugh. But then she turns, almost bashful as she ducks her head in the same way Bellamy sometimes does, when Clarke tells him he’s a good person or that she’s proud of him, and he’s distinctly uncomfortable when Octavia looks back up at him and smirks.</p>
<p>“Seriously, when did you grow a heart?”</p>
<p>He smirks back at her, but it feels more strained than he cares for, especially when he forces himself to joke, “Wasn’t Bellamy big on the stories growing up? Come on, you should know, it was <i>obviously</i> there all along.”</p>
<p>“My mistake,” she says lightly. She goes back to serious again though – <i>and at this point, he really wishes she wouldn’t. Why, oh why, must they keep having this discussion?</i> – and tells him softly, “I know it’s strange, okay? I grew up with it, with Bellamy watching me like a hawk and doing everything possible to take care of me, and I still didn’t get it. Not until it happened to me. But when you have someone – not just a partner, but a dependent – that’s relying on you... when you fully <i>realize</i> what that means, how much they need you, it’s like this shift. I can’t explain it, but suddenly nothing else matters. Not your own life, not anyone else’s, there’s just them, and the knowledge that their everything comes down to you.”</p>
<p>Her explanation hits him hard, nearly knocking his breath out of him and making him sincerely wish that he had the buzz of alcohol running through his veins to help numb it all. They need him. They actually <i>need him.</i> It's fucking terrifying, but it’s also... amazing?<br/>
Thrilling? All his life, or at least since his father was taken from him, he’s been searching for that feeling— the feeling of purpose and belonging.</p>
<p>“I need to go talk to Hope,” Octavia says suddenly, standing up quickly. He looks her over, having forgotten her presence until she moved, and focuses on trying to riddle her out to distract himself from the magnitude of what he just learned, but he can’t nail it down. Can’t stop his thoughts from revolving around Emori and <i>their child</i> and what it all means. “I can’t just – yeah. See you, Murphy.” </p>
<p>She leaves him behind quickly, all her earlier threats apparently long forgotten. He’s certainly forgotten. <i>How the fuck did he get here?</i> </p>
<p>The question lingers in the air around him as he tries to figure out the <i>how</i> of it all, but as the seconds drag on, he realizes that it doesn’t actually matter. Since he learned about the pregnancy, he’s been stuck on the how - <i>how he’s going to do it, how he’s going to be enough</i> - but it doesn’t matter. He's going to do it because he has to. He's not going to abandon them— <i>fuck no</i>— which means he’s going to do it.  For better or worse, he’s in it.</p>
<p>Like a light switch in a dark room, it all finally comes together for him. He's good at surviving, at doing what has to be done when it has to be done. There's clarity in situations like that, where the options are run or fight, and there’s clarity in this. He's not going to leave, so he’s going to stay. He's going to figure this out, do what he has to.</p>
<p>Except this isn’t just something he has to do, this isn’t putting a pillow under his mother’s head after she’s passed out on the bathroom floor, or even watching out for Madi, it’s something he <i>wants.</i> He wants it all with a ferocity that’s unprecedented— he doesn’t <i>want</i>; wanting is what leaves you 8-years-old and broken, sitting in the corner while being yelled at for being the one to survive. Wanting is how you end up with a rope around your neck, being hung from a tree by people who were supposed to be yours.</p>
<p>And yet, here he is. </p>
<p>He stands up from his stool and makes his way back to their room without a second more of thought—he’s been here before, he’s thought he’s found the acceptance he needs, and then waited too long, letting the doubts creep back in. He's not going to make that same mistake again.</p>
<p>Opening the door slowly, he toes quietly into the room, conscious of the fact that she might be sleeping, but he need not have worried. She looks up at him from her seat by the window the moment that he walks in, looking radiant and beautiful all that other sappy shit that he reserves for only around her.</p>
<p>She doesn’t look ill— she didn’t really when she left either— but it’s better to just ask. He wants to know, and he’s so fucking tired of pretending like he doesn’t care. “How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>“Oh fine,” she responds dismissively, only raising from her seat and continuing when it’s clear that he doesn’t quite believe her. “Really, Clarke kept shooting me looks like she wanted to talk to me, and there was no way I felt like sitting through that, so I escaped before she got the chance.”</p>
<p>“Ah makes sense,” he agrees with a grin. “Her and Bellamy with their sanctimonious shit. It can go on for hours. Who wants to deal with that?” </p>
<p>“Not me,” she answers with a matching grin, and <i>fuck, he loves her</i>. That has to make all of this just a little bit easier, he thinks.</p>
<p>First though, they have to actually talk about it all. He looks at her again and finds that the words are easier and lighter than he expected. He can do this. <i>They</i> can do this. “Okay, let’s do this; let’s talk. We are having a baby, and it's fucking terrifying."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everyone, it's back to me posting which means I made you all wait the extra day. I know, I'm mean, I don't let people open their presents before their birthday and I wait to post chapters until the set day, I'd say sorry, but I'm really not, lol. We are down to only one more chapter after this, I need to drag it out. (She's cruel, isn't she? I'm kidding. She's wonderful -Meyers).</p>
<p>As always, I hope you enjoy!</p>
<p>Here's a link to a super awesome Anthology that Meyer's has a story in if any of you are interested. I highly recommend it if you love fairytales like I do. <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/books/into-the-forest-tales-of-fantastic-escape-into-the-mystic-book-2-by-k-d-west-and-pumpkin-at-11">Into the Forest</a>.</p>
<p>(Words was also part of the first anthology our group did. It's called <i>Into the Mystic</i> and I don't know how to embed links, so you'll have to search for that one. Lol. But check it out! Romance and fantasy, by several talented writers including both of us! Thanks for putting up with my rambling! Hope you enjoy this chapter! -Meyers)</p>
<p>Oh yeah, I should have mentioned that. It's just so much easier to talk you up then myself, lol. Here's the link. <a href="https://books2read.com/into-the-mystic">Into the Mystic</a>.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Emori’s eyes widen in response before softening in understanding, “John, it’s okay, we don’t have to—” </p>
<p>“I want to,” he tells her, taking a step closer to her and trying to seem more confident than he is.  </p>
<p>“It’s okay that you if you haven’t gotten there yet,” she counters, being unreasonably understanding about it all. He’s not a masochist, he doesn’t <i>want</i> her to yell at him, but her peace and understanding mantra is honestly starting to freak him out a bit. Before, he was able to justify that it made sense. Now though, he’s not so sure that’s it. Or at least not entirely it. Especially when she continues a few seconds later. “You don’t need to rush yourself; we should still have months.” </p>
<p>He stops his advancement and looks at her closely. There’s a hesitance to her eyes that he’s never seen before. Hesitance that he’s now pretty sure he’s responsible for putting there. God, he’s such a fucking idiot; it’s honestly amazing that she puts up with his shit. The realization that he’s fucked up would have been enough to shut him down a few weeks ago, send him running. He’s trying to be better though, he’s going to be better, so instead of leaving, he swallows down the uncomfortable lump in his throat and forces himself to talk.  </p>
<p>“I’m ready,” he promises, forcing himself to look her in the eye and hoping that she’ll see the earnestness in them. “I know I shut down for a while, pretended like nothing had changed, and I can’t promise that it’s never going to happen again— I’m a walking disaster, and I think you know that. If by some miracle you didn’t before, you sure as hell do now,” he says with a self-deprecating laugh before forcing himself back on to the topic at hand. “Either way, the point is I’m ready now, and I hope it’s not too late.”  </p>
<p>“It’s not too late,” Emori explains softly, taking the final step towards them to put them right in front of each other and then placing her hand on his cheek until he is compelled to look at her. She smiles at him, and he feels like everything just might be okay. “And you’re most certainly a disaster, but you’re my disaster, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” </p>
<p>A sharp huff of laughter escapes him as he takes in the earnestness of her expression, a smile firmly on his face. “You’re fucked up, but I still love you. Romanticism at its finest.” </p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, sarcasm heavy in her voice, “Would you like me to start spouting poetry about your greatness?” </p>
<p>“I <i>am</i> pretty awesome,” he remarks, all false bravado.</p>
<p>“You <i>are</i> awesome,” she tells him, and he doesn’t even feel his happiness fade, “And if we are actually talking about it, this kid is going to be too, thanks to you.” </p>
<p>“Hell, no,” he interrupts her, shaking his head fondly, “Whatever goodness he gets is all from you. I’ll take responsibility for the killer smirk and tendency to lash out, even the amazing sense of humor, but the kindness, the goodness is all you.” </p>
<p>She rolls her eyes at him, shoving his shoulder like she thinks he’s full of shit— which maybe he is. He does get a little stupid around her— but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t either for a while, grinning probably a little like a maniac, his thoughts, for once, not running wild in horrible directions. “He, she? Do we know yet?” he asks, realizing that he really knows fuck all about babies and pregnancy. “That’s a thing, right?”  </p>
<p>“For your people, it is,” she informs him, “but I’d have to go see a doctor to find it out.” </p>
<p>"You haven’t seen a doctor?” he asks, as the world around him slowly starts to fall apart, back into its usual order of disarray. It’s comfortable in its bleakness, and yet, he still feels his heart pick up pace inside his chest, his body preparing him for the inevitable other shoe to drop as it always drops. That's his fucking life. “I thought I saw you talking to Jackson a few weeks ago.” </p>
<p>He doesn’t look at her— can’t look at her— but he hears her shift beside him, moving back towards the window, and he can just tell that she doesn’t want to say what she’s going to say. “No, no one knows about it other than you… Jackson still has issues with you….”  </p>
<p>“Of fucking course,” he mutters, at her, but mostly at himself, “because when has anything in my life ever worked out right.” </p>
<p>“John.”  </p>
<p>It’s a reprimand and a plea all wrapped into one single word— a name, one that is limited to her usage for a specific reason. There’s too much wrapped up in it, too many memories, too many regrets. He balls his hand into a fist, squeezing his shut and sucking in a breath. He will not let memories of his father’s last moments hit him now or all times. He pushes the thoughts away, focusing back on the now, and letting his frustration rule him in a way he tries not to.  </p>
<p>“Don’t,” he tells her sharply, “my life is a disaster— we just finished establishing that. People hate me, and I can’t even complain about it because I do things worthy of that hate. Everything I touch falls apart, but if this is going to work— if our kid is going to have a fucking fighting chance at all in this world— you’re going to have to work around that. I’m sorry, so unbelievably sorry that you get caught up in my shit, but there’s also not a damn thing I can do about it. And if Jackson treats you horribly because of me—“ he cuts off, overwhelmed at the thought and sick his stomach.  </p>
<p>“I’m sure he would have been fine,” Emori says, and there’s something in the way she says it that speaks of exhaustion, of bone-deep weariness that he also feels deep in his bones. “It’s just that no one would have been comfortable.” </p>
<p>“Fuck comfort,” he retorts, feeling like he could explode at any moment and trying to keep himself under control, but it’s useless, like trying to stop a volcano from erupting or a bee from stinging. “And for that matter, fuck Jackson too. There’s more than one doctor here, Emori. It doesn’t matter which one you go to, just fucking go!”  </p>
<p>“I didn’t want to go alone!”  </p>
<p>The unexpected outburst is surprising enough that it gets him turning around to look at her before his mind can think better of it, and when he does, the anger seems to evaporate out of him. She looks sad— he made her sad. What the fuck is he doing?<br/>
Still, when he finally speaks, he can’t keep the mournful quality from his voice. It sucks, but it is what it is, and they don’t lie to each other. “We are all alone.”  </p>
<p>“You aren’t alone!” she tells him venomously, the anger, the rebuke he was searching for weeks ago finally there, but he can’t help but feel it’s too late to make much of a difference. “You have me, you have this kid, you have tons of people who care about you. You just have to pull your head out of your ass long enough to see it. If you looked around for five fucking seconds and tried to be a part of something, you’d realize that you already are.”  </p>
<p>“I am trying!” he cries desperately, pacing back and forth, needing her to understand. “I am trying every single fucking day when I watch out for Madi, trying to make sure that she knows that even if Bellamy and Clarke up and disappear again that she’s not alone. When I watch Jordan struggle to interact with the world and Hope face off against the demons threatening to pull her under. When I listen to Raven bitch about Bellamy because I know she’s still fucked up from what happened with the reactors—” </p>
<p>He cuts off sharply, stopping just as suddenly as a horrible thought settles in his mind. Emori would have been pregnant then— the nightblood should have protected her, and she wasn’t ever actually in the reactor chamber like him, but still. Murphy turns to look at her, mostly convinced that he’s overreacting, but that all fades away when he spots her pale face; true terror like he’s never seen on her before replacing the sadness and anger.  </p>
<p>His breath catches in his throat, and he takes one step towards her, cautiously, hesitantly, afraid of what he is going to hear when he asks the question that he knows he needs to ask. “What’s wrong?”  </p>
<p>“Nothing,” she says quickly, twisting to turn out of sight, but he catches her wrist before she gets anywhere.  </p>
<p>“Bullshit. I’m going to need a better answer than that,” he tells her, bordering on begging when she remains silent. “Please, you’re starting to scare me.” An equally horrifying thought enters his mind, so terrible that it takes him a second to actually voice it. “You’re actually pregnant, right? This wasn’t all some fucked up cover-up to explain radiation poisoning?”  </p>
<p>He doesn’t know the difference between symptoms enough to be able to tell the difference, and it’s freaking him out. His ears are ringing, his hands sweating as he curses his carelessness when everyone was dying from radiation back on Earth. If he had paid attention a little more, cared more, he’d probably know enough now to figure out if the one person who makes living in this god-awful world is about to fucking die on him. </p>
<p> “Emori.” Her name comes out of his mouth as a strained whisper from a black hole, but thankfully it seems to be enough to finally break through to her.  </p>
<p>“There’s a baby,” she tells him, and he lets out a rush of air in relief, but it’s short-lived because she doesn’t actually appear any better. He watches her in confusion, reading every small change in her face with no success, especially when she continues, voice strangely robotic, “but the odds are if one of us is responsible for fucking them up, it’s not you. Genetics are a bitch, regardless of potential radiation exposure.” </p>
<p>She twists the hand of the wrist he still has his hand around, and it finally clicks. It finally makes sense, even though it really fucking doesn’t. Her hand is a part of her, a part that he honestly doesn’t even see anymore. He stopped seeing it around the time that she held a knife to his throat, taking all his stuff, and he’s never looked back. He didn’t think she did either. “Come on, you don’t actually believe that.” </p>
<p>Instead of answering, she just shrugs, and he feels a pit of lead settle in his stomach. How did he miss this? When did he miss it? Has it only been since she found out about the baby, or has it been ongoing?  </p>
<p>“Hey,” he says softly, placing a hand gently on either side of her face, “I’m still going to love our kid if they come out with three extra toes or an ear on the top of their head. Hell, it might be more interesting. They’d have to actually believe us when we spout the ‘you’re so unique’ parent shit to them.”  </p>
<p>Her eyes turn glassy even as she lets out a watery chuckle, “An extra couple toes? Come on, John, think big here, a third arm would be much more useful.”  </p>
<p>“You don’t need to joke about it for me. I’d say I get it, but I actually don’t really. Your hand is fucking awesome, just like the rest of you.” She closes her eyes like she doesn’t want the tears behind them to escape, and he knows for sure that he’s screwed up, but he can’t change the past, and right now, she needs him to let go of regrets. “You know, it’s all right for you to cry.”  </p>
<p>He doesn’t actually expect tears to pour down her cheeks or a sob to burst out of her, but he takes it all in stride, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. He rests his chin against her hair and closes his eyes. He is not going to cry; he is not. This is her moment; he knows now what he suspected before. She’s been keeping it together for him so that he could take the time he needed to wrap his head around it all, and it’s time for him to return the favor.  </p>
<p>It’s what they do, a trademark of two dysfunctional people trying to have something resembling a healthy relationship— and he has to say, he thinks they do a pretty fucking good job considering. They argue, sometimes they retreat into themselves, but at the end of the day, they make an effort to be who the other person needs them to be.  </p>
<p>She has been his steady rock these last few weeks, his strength when he didn’t think he had any left, so now he’ll be hers; he’ll be her sun in the sky, showing her the light when all there seems to be is darkness. He’ll be - well, it doesn't really matter, he doesn't have to be Bellamy with his poetic metaphors, he can just be the man that keeps her up. He can be the man that she loves the most because he is.  </p>
<p>And that's enough.</p><hr/>
<p>They spend the night talking, quiet whispers as the moonlight shines out the window, sarcastic quips, and inappropriate jokes— because that’s just who they are— and by the end of it, he feels like they are finally back on the same page again. He still feels like shit, he definitely should have considered that she’d be worried about passing a mutation down, but he doesn’t allow himself to wallow in the feeling. It turns out that he’s spent more than enough time trapped in his head since they found out.  </p>
<p>No, now it’s time for him to do what he can to alleviate her fears, and that starts with seeing a doctor, which is something he’s more than capable of arranging. He thinks back to the night before, of her uncharacteristic vulnerability as she’d explained her decision not to go more fully. <i>I didn’t want to go without you. I - I’m scared, John. I can’t - no – I don’t want to do this by myself. There’s so much –</i> </p>
<p>He picks up his pace walking towards Clarke and Bellamy’s house, wondering why the fuck they had to choose the one that’s literally the farthest from everything else. Emori doesn’t need to do this alone; she doesn’t need to be scared. He’s here now, and he’s finally got it shit together.  </p>
<p>“Hey, kid,” he greats when the door opens to reveal Madi, a backpack on her shoulders, braids in her hair, and a grin on her face. <i>Good,</i> he thinks, it will be better to ease himself into this with the one person living in this house that he actually likes. At least, it seems good until the smile drops off her face. </p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” </p>
<p>“Geez, what kind of greeting is that? No, ‘hi Murphy. Good morning, Murphy.'” he asks, rolling his eyes easily now that he knows nothing is actually amiss. “Aren’t they raising you better than that? Treat your elders with respect and all that.” </p>
<p>“Are you calling yourself old?” Madi asks with a smirk that makes him proud.  </p>
<p>“Hey, watch yourself,” he rebukes, smirking back at her. It's tempting to just keep going back and forth with her; it would surely be a much more enjoyable way to spend his morning, but he’s got things to do, and he’s not going to be irresponsible when it comes to this. Still, he makes no effort to hide his sigh and asks, “Is Clarke around?” </p>
<p>“Seriously, what’s going on?” </p>
<p>There's genuine worry in her tone again, mixed with the kind of wariness that he’s sure comes from people not telling her things. He would have loved for her to just stay a kid, but Bellamy fucked that up when he put the flame in her head— the least people can do now is have the decency not to bullshit her. Still, he’s not sure he’s actually ready to tell her, so instead of lying, he just skirts around the truth. “It’s nothing bad.” </p>
<p>“Which is exactly what everyone says when it’s <i>really</i> bad.” </p>
<p>He tips his head in agreeance— she’s not <i>wrong,</i> that is what they all say, but he’s not everyone, and he tells her as much. “But I’m not everyone. It's good, I promise. I’m just not ready to tell people yet, but when I do, you’ll be the first to know.” </p>
<p>“You’re telling Clarke.” </p>
<p>“Well, yeah, but she’s <i>Clarke.</i> I’m sure as hell not telling her because I want to.” </p>
<p>A few minutes pass while she scrutinizes him closely, and he lets her, wanting her for some unfathomable reason to trust him until finally, her face clears of distress. “Okay then. I’m going to hold you to it.” </p>
<p>“I’d expect nothing less.”  </p>
<p>“Murphy’s here!” Madi calls back into the house, her bubbly energy back in full force, “I’m going to school.” </p>
<p>She passes by him with a pat on his shoulder that makes him feel oddly emotional. He shakes the sentimentality off quickly, though, as she disappears down the street, stepping through the doorway she left open and into the house. He looks around the space— wondering blatantly, if he's supposed to take his shoes off before saying fuck it— the cutie domesticity of it all making him shutter, and then quickly continues on to the kitchen where he can hear Bellamy and Clarke moving around.  </p>
<p>They share a look as soon as he enters the room, long and full of meaning in a way that he despises, and then Clarke asks, “What’s wrong?” </p>
<p>“For fuck’s sake, really? What the hell is wrong with all of you? Does my face just scream imminent peril to you all?” he asks them incredulously.  </p>
<p>The tension lingers for a moment longer before a smirk works its way onto Bellamy’s face, “Well, it definitely doesn’t scream peace and happiness.” </p>
<p>“Fuck off, Blake. You love my face. The only reason you went for Echo on the Ark was because I was already taken.”  </p>
<p> Bellamy groans, shaking his head in exasperation, “It’s too early to deal with your snark, so just to hurry up and get to the point; leave us in peace.” </p>
<p>“Why, did the two of you have some big plans? All alone in this big house with the kiddo gone for the next few hours...” he trails off suggestively, grinning at the flustered expression on the man’s face. Really, he wouldn’t do it— wouldn’t be a dick about it— if he didn’t just make it so easy.  </p>
<p>“Shut up, Murphy.”  </p>
<p>“And again, you wonder why I’m your only friend.”  </p>
<p>“I can’t stand you,” Bellamy deadpans. “Seriously, what do you want?” </p>
<p>“Nothing—” </p>
<p>“Great, get out.” </p>
<p>“With you,” Murphy finishes, turning his attention to Clarke, leaning back against the counter with a coffee cup in her hand and a grin on her face, “I’m here to talk to Mrs. Blake—” Bellamy splutters (really, it’s just too fucking easy) “if she’d be so kind as to listen.” </p>
<p>Clarke raises an eyebrow at him, mimicking Bellamy, “What do you want?” </p>
<p>“Not—” Now that he’s finally at the moment where he has to do what he set out to, the nerves suddenly come rushing back. He pushes them aside, though, reminding himself why he’s doing this (he loves Emori, loves their kids, he’s going to do his best to be worthy of that love, blah, blah, blah), and gestures out the door. “Not here?” </p>
<p>Her eyes widen a little in surprise, but she puts her mug down, pats Bellamy on the arm, and walks towards the back door. “Sure. The field behind us is almost always empty.” </p>
<p>As they walk out the door and through the overly tall grass, Murphy tries to come up with what to say. It should be easy— I’m going to be a father, Emori is pregnant, hey, how are your birthing skills would all be acceptable entrances into the conversation, and yet, he can’t seem to get any of them out. Instead, what comes out is, “So...” </p>
<p>When he fails to come up with anything, Clarke fills the silence smoothly, as if it’s not bizarre that he’s suddenly unable to form words, “It’s beautiful out here, don’t you think?” He shoots her a sideways glance – <i>small talk? Really?</i> – but she continues looking out at the field, not paying him any mind, her expression serene for once. “I wanted to be out here for Madi, so she had space. To do... anything, really. Run or draw or look up at the sky in relative peace. It’s important, I think, for kids to have that kind of freedom. Good for them.” </p>
<p>He turns to look at her, eyes wide in surprise and mouth set in a scowl. “You know. You fucking know—I don’t know how, but somehow you do. You’re trolling me.” </p>
<p>“Know what?” she asks with a smirk that is eerily similar to Madi’s. Another check for nurture.  </p>
<p>“You’re going to make me say it,” he grumbles before squaring his shoulders, “Fine, fuck—” he forces himself to just get it out, “Emori is pregnant; I’m going to be a dad.” </p>
<p>A smile starts to spread across her face, and he braces to shut her down with a cutting remark, but the smug, triumphant look he's expecting never comes. Instead, her smile is soft, excited, and proud in equal measure, like he's giving her a gift. It's fucking weird. It's <i>Clarke</i> though, the woman who tells the guy that tried to kill her she's proud of him and thanks him for doing what any decent person would do, so maybe he should have known. </p>
<p>“Really, after all of that, you’re not going to even say anything?”<br/>
The smile gains an amused tilt to it, “Would you like my congratulations?” </p>
<p>“Fuck, no.” </p>
<p>“Would you like condolences?” </p>
<p>He steps back in repulsion, “God, no— why would you even—” he looks up at her, and sees that she’s clearly still messing with him, and scowls back, muttering under his breath, “I should have just gone to see Jackson.” </p>
<p>The humor vanishes from her, replaced with tension as the smile drops, and she straightens. Her tone is the same urgent one from their early days on Earth when everything was a constant nightmare, and they all felt like the world was going to eat them whole at any moment. “What do you mean, ‘gone to see Jackson?’ Did something – is Emori okay?” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” he tells her dismissively before thinking better of it, “I think so... she’s tired and puking, but that’s normal, right?” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” she reassures him.  </p>
<p>Hesitating for a second, he wonders if he should even say anything before ultimately deciding that he has nothing to lose. She’s a doctor, she’s supposed to hear this. “Emori is worried about passing the mutation down, though.” </p>
<p>Clarke nods her head, very doctor-like— he wonders if that’s something they teach them— and explains, “I don’t think it will be an issue. It isn’t a genetic trait from what I understand, right? It was just an effect of the radiation still on Earth, so I don’t see why—” He opens his mouth to remind her of the reactor nonsense, but she gets there before him, “Oh right, okay. It still should be fine... she’s a nightblood now, so the baby will be too.” </p>
<p>“Right,” he says, not as reassured as he hoped he would be.<br/>
“But there’s no reason why we can’t just go make sure,” she tells him, the determination he normally finds exhausting settling in her eyes and giving him the confidence that he needs, “We’ll go take a look, and then if there’s anything amiss, we’ll figure it out.”</p><hr/>
<p>She’s Clarke, so, of course, she does. By that afternoon, she’s freed herself of all her obligations – and Bellamy, which is honestly more impressive – without giving away his secret and has them all safely in the empty medical lab with no one the wiser.  </p>
<p>If he wasn’t so terrified, he might find it in him to be impressed.  </p>
<p>He was almost excited there for a moment – he actually felt it stirring – before the subject of the radiation was raised. Despite that, and the subsequent terror, he’ll admit he feels better for having told Clarke. Her determination hasn’t faded, not for a second, and he cannot deny that he finds comfort in the fire it ignites in her eye. He’s seen it countless times – aimed at Bellamy and Madi more than anyone else, but so, so many others as well – but not for him. He’s seen what odds she can defy with that spirit, and even if this isn’t something she can fight, he feels like they’re in capable hands.  </p>
<p>At a minimum, he’s grateful for the feeling of confidence she gives him because it makes it easier for him to be strong for Emori. Emori, the fiercest, strongest woman he knows, who has spent <i>weeks</i> suffering alone in fear of what she might find out while he wallowed. He’s done with that, but a little boost never hurts.  </p>
<p>He holds Emori’s hand – valiantly ignoring the vice-grip she’s using that is cutting off his circulation – and smiles or smirks at her as the situation calls for it. She’s tense, but she goads him back eventually, and he feels some of the blood returning to his fingers, so he figures he can’t be doing that badly. Clarke helps, taking her own jibes at him and leaving the door open, all the while maintaining a comforting, but professional attitude that says, <i>you can trust me, relax</i>. It’s as good as it’s going to get, he figures.  </p>
<p>The confidence lingers as Clarke takes Emori’s blood for testing. The black as it comes out the tube is nearly too much in Clarke’s presence as he vividly recalls pumping a dead heart to push it through Clarke’s system so they could save everyone from the City of Light. It's a reminder of the small part he could do to save <i>her</i>, Emori, but he pushes down the momentary hysteria. He doesn’t need to break down right now, not when he’s supposed to be keeping Emori up – he can wait to break down in private if he needs to.  </p>
<p>It falters when it comes time for the ultrasound at the pinched look that crosses Clarke’s face. She covers it up in an instant, but not quickly enough for either of them to miss it.  </p>
<p>“What?” he asks. It’s more a snarl, but his nerves are worn too thin for this. “What was that look?” </p>
<p>“Nothing,” she says quickly, smoothly continuing her preparations, loading up the screen, and laying out the instruments as if nothing happened. </p>
<p>“Clarke?” Emori asks gentler, the undercurrent of worry enough to soften Clarke. </p>
<p>She gives a half-smile, reassuringly resting her hand on Emori’s. “Really, it’s nothing. The equipment is far more advanced than we had on the Ark, but it seems to run the same way. It’s not bad. I was just surprised, though I shouldn’t have been.” She lathers something on Emori’s stomach that makes her jump slightly before pulling over the equipment, “Sorry. I haven’t done this in a while. Forgot to warn you it would be cold. Are you ready?” </p>
<p>Emori looks at him, for confirmation or encouragement he isn’t sure, but he makes sure he’s already looking at her, unwavering and ready to be whatever she needs. She exhales a relieved breath, holding his gaze for a beat longer before turning back to Clarke and nodding.  </p>
<p>Without further prompting, Clarke begins by placing a probe on the small, gelled area and rolling it around the surface of the barely visible bump between the cradle of Emori’s hips.<br/>
He instantly understands what Clarke meant when the image fills the screen. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen before. He had an ultrasound once as a child when he was sick, and he remembers the graininess, how it looked like absolutely nothing to his eyes. This is nothing like that. </p>
<p>It’s so <i>clear.</i> There’s a baby there, on the screen, taking form in full on three-dimensions as Clarke moves the probe around and completes the picture. He can see <i>everything</i>. </p>
<p>The head is too big, but he’s pretty sure that’s normal. There’s two of everything there’s supposed to be. Everything he can see is in order, down to the ten fingers and ten toes. He can see them when the baby moves. </p>
<p>What he doesn’t notice is that he hasn’t heard anything over the roaring in his ears since Murphy first caught sight of their kid, not until Emori is touching the side of his face, making him look at her instead of the screen, and he sees her lips moving.  </p>
<p>“What?” </p>
<p>“Are you alright?” she asks, but it’s hard to concentrate on when he can now hear the steady, rapid heartbeat of <i>their</i> child. She looks worried, though, so he forces himself to focus. </p>
<p>“Fine,” he says quickly. He looks between her and Clarke. “Sorry, I – everything is good, right? It looks good.” </p>
<p>Clarke’s smile is joyful as she tells him, “Everything is perfect. Here, let me show you...” </p>
<p>Her expression is one of wonder as she points out all the baby’s “perfect” parts on the screen, the tenderness on her face, and the reverent tone she uses more intense than he’s ever seen from her. He gives it a year max before she’s carrying Bellamy’s kid herself – but when he looks at Emori, he recognizes his own feelings in her expression. There are hints of other things – surprise, amazement, excitement – but above all, he sees his own bone-deep relief there. </p>
<p>It’s going to be okay. Their kid is okay. Better than okay, if Clarke is to be believed. He can see it with his own eyes as she keeps going, and neither he nor Emori stops her when she starts repeating herself just so they can all watch the baby on the screen a little longer. Their kid is great. </p>
<p>It’s more than he deserves, honestly. More than he ever thought to ask for or dream of. Even just Emori is more than he thought he’d ever get, but watching the smile that starts to spread across her face, he can’t bring himself to question it. She deserves it, all this and more, he thinks, pressing a kiss to her temple. </p>
<p>An unfamiliar feeling rises in him when she glances at him with a genuine smile before turning back to the screen – light, airy, and warm. It takes him a moment to recognize it’s hope. Optimism. Suddenly, he thinks everything else may turn out that way too. </p>
<p>He still isn’t convinced, but even the possibility is more than he’s ever had before.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This feels like an end of an era since we had each subsequent project started before we finished each of the last stories in this series and we don't have anything time, but hopefully it's not the end. We both still have ideas for this universe. For now though, thank you everyone for your continued support, it's meant the world to us.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I want to tell Madi,” Murphy says to Emori, looking around their room rather than at her. It’s been a couple weeks, and he’s comfortable talking about this all now for the most part, but it’s also just <i>weird</i>— he doesn’t share, doesn’t want to share. “Before we tell everyone else tonight, I mean. I promised her that I would, and you know that she’ll hold it against me if I don’t. She's got spite down like that,” he adds on a little proudly— someone needs to teach her not to just forgive everyone. Bellamy and Clarke turn forgiveness into a dangerous condition— finally looking at Emori, only to scowl at the grin on her face. “Shut it.” </p><p>“I didn’t say anything.”  </p><p>“Your face did.” </p><p>“You love my face.”  </p><p>He lets out a huff of laughter, moving back towards the bed and to her. Logically, he knows that they are similar, knows that she’s really and truly, his perfect match, but it’s still fun to see her take the words right out of his mouth. He turns a little sentimental— something that is happening with alarming regularity— thinking about how lucky he was to find her, to be loved by her. “I do love it,” he tells her earnestly, before pushing the sappiness aside (small doses are still all he can handle), “Even when it’s clearly mocking me.” </p><p>Mirth breaks out over her face again, and he groans, but really, he’s just happy. It's so much better than the fear that was there before. He even manages to keep hold of the feeling when she starts to explain. “It’s just— you complain about everyone, swear up and down that you can’t stand any of them, that you don’t like anyone—” </p><p>“I like you,” he cuts her off— fuck, what has happened to him— before revising, “I like you more than them.” </p><p>She doesn’t acknowledge his interruption other than a bashful shake of her head and tilt of her mouth, which unfortunately has the effect of making him feel like all the sappy bullshit is totally worth it. He manages to keep his commentary to himself this time, though, as she continues, “You don’t like anyone, act like the world could burn apart, everyone could be killed, and it would be justified, but you seem genuinely excited to tell her.” </p><p>“Do I look excited?” he deadpans, forcing his face into the most bored expression he can muster.  </p><p>“Yes,” she responds gleefully, pitching her voice sweetly, “You’ve made a friend, John.” </p><p>“Ugh,” he says in disgust, but mostly amusement, “I sure as hell didn’t.” She continues to grin at him, so he throws one of the many decorative pillows in their room at her face, “I change my mind. I don’t actually like you at all. Madi is my new favorite.” </p><p>“Exactly,” she exclaims triumphantly, her face filled with satisfaction. The look lasts for a few seconds before transitioning into something softer. “You’re going to be a great dad.” </p><p>“Oh yeah, the absolute best,” he tells her, sarcasm heavy in his voice. It's not like he thinks he’s going to be bad— he’s past the self-loathing stage where he thinks he’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to this kid— but he isn’t anywhere close to convinced that he’ll be good, let alone great.  </p><p>He can tell that Emori wants to argue with him, to push the issue, but he is saved from that by the sound of the school bell ringing, signaling the end of class for the day. He gestures out the window vaguely, and she nods her head in understanding. “It’s good. Go tell your friend.” </p><p>“Okay,” he rolls his eyes but agrees, meeting her for a kiss before walking out the door. He really would prefer to catch her before she gets home and avoid the Bellamy and Clarke of it all if he can. Madi is easy to spot, exiting the school building, the minute he’s down the palace steps, so he slows down, choosing instead to call out to her. “Hey, kid!” </p><p> She doesn’t respond right away, so he starts to call out again, only to stop short when he sees why she didn’t answer. She’s talking to someone. A special someone if the tilt to her head and the color on her cheeks is an indication.  </p><p>The urge to protect her from the hell that is love— especially young love— is absolutely there, but it fades away after a moment. He’s sure Bellamy is going to be all over that, and honestly, he’d rather have some fun with her. He’s spent far too much time lately being the responsible adult.  </p><p>Moving forward quickly, he swings an arm over the young man’s shoulders, turning to look at Madi with a smirk. “Well, well, well, now what have we got here?” </p><p>Madi’s face scrunches at him, the displeasure at being called out clear on her face. She’s got Clarke’s glare down, but he’s never been intimidated by Clarke, and Madi’s is less effective with the color staining her cheeks and the way she’s trying to keep her cool. He congratulates himself for not laughing – he just wants to have some fun, not humiliate the girl.  </p><p>It’s really quite a feat. The boy under his arm is so tense that Murphy can’t be sure he’s taken a breath since he arrived. The kid seems terrified, for good reason, and shoots Madi a look that is pleading. </p><p>“Murphy,” she responds levelly. “I was just about to go home.” </p><p>“Really?” he drawls. “Didn’t look like it.” He squeezes the kid’s shoulder. “You seemed to be caught up with this fellow.” </p><p>“And now I’m going home,” she says pointedly, grabbing Murphy’s arm to pull him away. She looks at the boy again, the blush brighter, but her composure still holds as she refuses to break in front of him. “Sorry, about – yeah. See you tomorrow?” </p><p>“What, don’t want to introduce me?” he teases, allowing himself to be pulled away.  </p><p>A glance over his shoulder tells him the kid is still standing there, rooted to the spot. Murphy can’t help but smirk at him. The kid balks for a second before straightening up and watching them go. He still has red in his cheeks too, but he doesn’t falter in his gaze even when Murphy quirks an eye at him. </p><p>Huh, maybe the kid has some potential. </p><p>When he looks back at Murphy, she’s pointedly avoiding his gaze.  </p><p>He nudges her, grinning. She’ll forgive him, and clearly, the kid wasn’t scared off. “Come on, I was just having some fun with you.” </p><p>She shoots him a disgruntled look. “Was that really necessary?” </p><p>“Absolutely,” he says unrepentant. “Terrorizing people is my specialty; you should consider yourself lucky. Not everyone gets the Murphy treatment.” </p><p>She groans. </p><p>“Stop being so dramatic. He’s still looking if it makes you feel any better.” </p><p>Surreptitiously, she peeks over her shoulder, smiling shyly at her feet when she looks back. He can’t help teasing her again. “See? All good.” He pauses for effect before adding, “Might not want to tell Bellamy yet, though. We don’t need another Atom situation." </p><p>His grin turns feral as she turns to him in confusion. “Atom? He was the first person Clarke killed, right?” </p><p>He looks upward for a moment. <i>Of course</i>, that’s the part of the story she knows. Clarke <i>would</i> tell a kid how she mercy-killed the guy and not how Bellamy strung his friend up in a tree because he messed around with his sister. Gotta maintain the knight’s reputation, after all. He doesn’t bring it up again; she already knows how he feels about that. </p><p>“Yeah, I forgot about that. I mean the fun part. Where Bellamy flipped the fuck out because he was screwing around with Octavia.” </p><p>Her eyes widen, and he has, admittedly, too much fun watching her reaction as he launches into the full tale.  </p><p>“What?” she swallows, looking away. He does feel a little bad at her show of anxiety. He thought she’d figured out by now just how screwed up even Bellamy is, but before he can think about trying to undo the damage, she straightens, a familiar defiance filling her face. “That’s ridiculous. If he goes anywhere near Lucas, I’ll - I don’t even know. I’ll tell Clarke. Or Octavia. And we’ll think of something.” </p><p>He laughs, relieved, endeared, and impressed at the same time. It’s funny, hearing Madi say she’d go to them when she’s so clearly channeling their attitudes.  </p><p>“Clarke was pretty pissed if I recall. Octavia, even more so. They’re good allies.” </p><p>She mulls it over for a minute in silence as they walk, her expression giving away her thoughts, but he leaves her to it. Eventually, she turns to him and asks, “What are you doing here, anyway? I know you didn’t come to find me just to mess with me. And watching kids on the school grounds is too creepy even for you.” </p><p>“Fuck off,” he shoots back immediately. He should probably work on that. Swearing in front of babies is probably a no-go, right? Shaking it off – <i>he still has time, alright?</i> – he turns back to her and throws an arm around her shoulder, shaking her a little. “Whoever taught you to be such a smartass deserves a kick.” </p><p>She immediately kicks him, grinning when he curses again. He should have known better. The girl is too quick for her own good. </p><p>“Well, my presence here is clearly not appreciated,” he says, mocking sadness as he pulls away. “I’ll just go tell someone else my news... Hey, do you know where Jordan is today? I’m sure he doesn’t kick people.” </p><p>Excitement lights up her eyes, and it’s clear that she knows exactly what he’s talking about (he knew she wasn’t going to let it go.) “Are you finally going to tell me?”  </p><p>“Finally?” he asks, rolling his eyes and purposefully delaying because he’s difficult like that— and because she kicked him. The heel of her shoes are fucking sharp— “It’s been like two weeks. Calm yourself. You know, it’s not even <i>that</i> exciting, just boring adult stuff. You’re going to hear it and then be like ‘really, that’s what I’ve been waiting for?’”  </p><p>“Murphy,” she complains, stepping in front of him so he can’t go any farther and then crossing her arms petulantly.  </p><p>“Hey, I’m just limiting your expectations. It’s an important life skill. You’ll thank me for it someday,” he tells her sarcastically before sucking in a lung full of air. He examines the girl in front of him, staring him down with bubbly optimism but willing to kick him without a second of hesitation. Fuck, he hopes this actually is as exciting for her as she thinks it will be; his kid— his son — would be lucky to have someone like her to grow up with.  </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she responds with disinterest, waving her hand in the air impatiently, “The world is an awful place filled with death and despair, can we move on?”  </p><p>He grins at her— he really has taught her well. “How do you feel about babies?”  </p><p>The squeal of joy she lets out is truly traumatizing, but it’s also just about the exact reaction that he wanted to see. When she wraps her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug, he even hugs her back.  </p><p>“Babies?” she questions, eyes alight in wonder as she pulls back, hands still gripping his shoulders. </p><p>“No,” he quickly corrects, “Fuck, no. One baby, singular. Thank god. I don’t think I could— I’m not even sure—” he shakes his head, pushing away those depressing thoughts; a move that he’s finally starting to get better at. “A boy.”  </p><p>Her fingers tighten as she looks up at him, and he can feel the excited trembling in them. He watches in surprise as she practically vibrates with eagerness, murmuring, “A baby. An actual baby.” </p><p>He expected her to be happy— hoped that she would be— and he gets that most people find immediate joy in this sort of thing, but still, really? It’s more than he expected, almost disturbingly so. </p><p>“I’m actually going to not be the youngest anymore!” she bursts out, bouncing on her toes a little. </p><p>He gets it then, and a surprised laugh bubbles out of him. The kid is absolutely ridiculous, but he loves it. It’s easy to be happy, to be glad he told her first, in the face of her excitement. </p><p>“Who knows?” she asks eagerly, suddenly dragging him more quickly toward her house.  </p><p>“Emori.” </p><p>She hardly even gets irritated at his messing with her, simply rolling her eyes. “Duh. Seriously, who else? Who can I tell? I need someone to talk to about this!” </p><p>“Am I not a person?” he asks dryly. </p><p>“Murphy,” she whines.  </p><p>Her enthusiasm is getting to be a bit much, so he levels with her. “Clarke. She’s the one who confirmed it.” </p><p>Something similar to understanding flashes across her face before she grins. “Perfect,” she says, before practically dancing the rest of the way down the road and launching herself into her house. He can hear her calling for Clarke the moment she’s through the door, which remains open, anticipating that he’ll follow her.  </p><p>By the time he’s reached the house, Bellamy is stepping outside, sending him a curious look. “Madi kicked me out to talk to Clarke. Any idea what that’s about?” </p><p>Murphy weighs him for a moment, wondering if he really doesn’t know. He trusts Clarke, obviously, but he wasn’t sure she was even capable of keeping something from Bellamy. They’re so good at that weird reading each other thing it seems like she couldn’t if she tried. Then again, it took them literal centuries to understand that they’re in love with each other. He’s still not sure if they’ve figured that out yet, even. </p><p>“Should I?” </p><p>“I would think so,” Bellamy responds, “considering the scene I just witnessed.” He looks at Murphy searchingly before adding, “It wouldn’t have anything to do with why Clarke came home ecstatic after spending the afternoon with you a few weeks back, would it?” </p><p>“Dude, if I’m the reason that your girl is ecstatic, you’re definitely doing something wrong. Try a nice dinner, maybe some flowers? I’d say make her laugh, but we both know that you have absolutely no sense of humor, so that’s a bust,” he drawls on, avoiding the subject and having some fun at his expense all at once.  </p><p>“Bellamy!” Madi calls insistently from the house.  </p><p>Bellamy hesitates, still staring at him before shrugging, “Fine, keep your secrets. For now.” </p><p>Madi bursts through the door, looking expectantly at Bellamy. It looks like she’s trying to appear stern, but her earlier happiness is shining through still, producing some completely contradictory mix of the two. </p><p>“What’s up, Mads?” Bellamy asks curiously. </p><p>She glances at Murphy briefly before squaring her shoulders and looking back at Bellamy. “We need to talk,” she says seriously, “Come with me.” </p><p>With that, she leads him off to the field again, and Clarke takes her place at his side as he watches. Madi is speaking sternly to a confused, slack-jawed Bellamy at first. The expression slowly turns into a smile that he hides behind an exaggeratedly solemn nod. Murphy thinks he sees Madi say the name Lucas as she lectures the man before they’re both smiling and talking enthusiastically.  </p><p>Murphy has to smile at it. Of course, Madi has Bellamy wrapped around her finger. Is there anyone she doesn’t get to eventually? The girl has a talent for it. </p><p>“She’s a good kid. You did good,” he tells Clarke, breaking the silence. He feels uncharacteristically charitable at the moment and wants her to know. She raises an incredulous brow at him, but he can see her fighting a pleased smile. He taps her with his elbow. “Come on, you know you did.” </p><p>“I’d like to think so,” she admits, looking back at where Madi and Bellamy are chasing one another in the field with a smile like sunlight. For a moment, he thinks she’s too distracted to answer, but then she shakes her head and looks back at him, “but I think I got lucky. She was a good kid when I found her. It’s no surprise she’s growing up to be amazing.” </p><p>“You mean the feral thing that led you into a bear trap and then attacked you is what you consider a ‘good kid’?” </p><p>She looks at him sharply. “Who the hell told you that?” </p><p>“Madi,” he says with a shrug. “That’s how she tells it.” </p><p>Clarke purses her lips as she looks out at the girl again, before shrugging. “It’s a decent synopsis, but she was just a scared kid; a starving one, who’d been alone too long and trained to fear people who came after her. She did as she was supposed to. It was the smart thing.” </p><p>“But you wore her down,” he prompts when she doesn’t continue. “Why? How?” </p><p>He can’t help himself, he needs to know. Even if she won’t admit it, he knows for a fact that Madi is too like Clarke in so many ways that it cannot be a coincidence. It has to come down to Clarke’s presence in her life.  </p><p>“What do you mean why? She’s a little girl. We were the last two people on the surface of the planet. I wasn’t about to let her die, not when I could keep her safe.”  </p><p>“Of course not,” he snorts. “Fine. You’ve got the whole saint-martyr complex, I know. But how'd you do it?” </p><p>“Again,” Clarke smirks, “for six years, I was her only choice for company.” </p><p>“Fucking hell,” he mutters, his patience finally snapping. "Clarke -” </p><p>“Relax. You don’t need to worry about it," she says, tone tinged with fond exasperation, as she bumps into his shoulder. "The talk you just had with Madi? Everything you've done for her since we took down the Primes? That's it, Murphy. Being there, keeping them safe, hearing them, and making them feel important. Loving them. That's all there is to it, and you already know how to do that. You're already doing it, and you’re doing it well. You don’t need me to tell you how it’s done." </p><p>“Good, because I sure as hell wasn’t asking.” </p><p>She rolls her eyes, “No, that’s definitely not what you’re doing here— and surely not why you were grilling Bellamy a month ago about how we were trying to be better for Madi... We do talk you know,” she adds on when he doesn’t say anything.  </p><p>“Seems like he talks too much,” Murphy mutters under his breath, glaring at the other man. “And it certainly wasn’t grilling. Your boyfriend obviously doesn’t know what a fucking conversation is. I honestly don’t know what you see in him.”  </p><p>“And,” he continues before she can object, “I wouldn’t be asking either of you for advice since it’s clear that you just got lucky this time. Give it a go with another one, and then we’ll talk.” </p><p>“You realize that she’s not going to be able to keep this quiet, right?” Clarke says, changing the subject as she watches her daughter gesture enthusiastically with a smile on her face that he finds equal parts annoying and encouraging. “She’ll try, but— you can see how excited she is. She’ll tell Jordan, and then it will all be over.” </p><p>Privately, he thinks that route might not be a bad way to go. He wanted to tell Madi, but he really doesn’t care what the rest of them think, and then there's the memory of how hard it was to get the information out when he told Clarke. He and Emori talked about it and decided that it would be better just to tell everyone at once, ripping the band-aid off, so to speak (a metaphor that he didn’t share with Emori).</p><p>“Yeah, I know. We’re going to tell everyone else tonight at dinner.” </p><p>There must be more nerves in his voice than he intended, though, or maybe she also just remembers the last time he tried to do this because she takes her eyes off Bellamy and Madi for the first time completely, turning to face him. “It will be fine. You know everyone is just going to be happy for you two, right?” </p><p>“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” he answers cynically before waving goodbye to Madi and walking away.  </p><p>Several hours later, the tavern is once again crowded, and he knows for sure that overexcited happiness is precisely what he has to fear. It was only slightly cringey with Madi— there was at least a level of cuteness to help balance it out— but he doesn’t see that working for anyone else in the room. He tried valiantly before they arrived to get Emori on board with simply not telling anyone else, waiting until there was actually a baby, and then just being like, ‘hey, look, we have a kid’, but she wouldn’t go for it.  </p><p>In the end, they decided that somehow everyone would know by the end of the meal, but with the caveat that he’s free to punch anyone over the age of 15, who tries to hug him, and it’s not like he’s going to punch Madi, so he’s good. Or at least he was. </p><p> Now, they are most of the way through the meal, and he’s got no fucking clue how to broach the subject. Normally there’s a minimum of a few awkward lulls in conversation, but nope, apparently, everyone chose today to be fucking chipper.  </p><p>He sees Emori shift slightly out of the corner of his eye— by some cosmic joke they ended up sitting on opposite ends of the table today because apparently, Raven hasn’t gotten to see her enough lately— and he feels the looming countdown clock ticking harder. Why the hell did they decide tonight? They still have months before people are really questioning it; she’s barely even showing.  </p><p>His eyes meet hers and she offers him a small shrug, so slight that he’s sure no one else would have even noticed. It says <i>it’s fine, there’s always another night</i>, but somehow, someway, he can see the tiniest twinge of disappointment to it. If it was the first time he’d seen it, he wouldn’t even be sure what he saw, but it’s far too close to the look she gave him the night she first told him, and all he could say was that he needed air.  </p><p>That look has no place here. She doesn’t have to be secretly disappointed anymore because he’s not walking away anymore, or if he is, it’s with the explicit promise that he’ll be back. He’s here now, he’s in it, and he’s going to support her in the way she deserves.  </p><p>And if that just happens to mean interrupting the cheery chatter around the table, well, he can’t say he’s all that sorry.  </p><p>He lets a smirk slide into his face, and her eyes start to glow, a brilliant smile overtaking her face as he stands up. “I have an announcement.”  </p><p>The conversation stops almost immediately, and he just takes a moment to relish the silence, closing his eyes and letting a content sigh slip past his lips. He must take too long enjoying the peace, though, because Echo very rudely interrupts it.  </p><p>“What did you do now, Murphy?” she asks, dry. </p><p>When he opens his eyes, she’s looking at him expectantly, if a bit bored. Glancing around the table, he takes in the varying degrees of amusement, expectancy, and suspicion (Jackson still hasn’t forgiven him).  </p><p>“Why the hell do people expect the worst when I open my mouth?” he questions the room, slightly irritated but mostly just exasperated. “Seriously, out of everyone around this table, I’m probably the least likely to deliver horrible news; Bellamy and Clarke show up? Well, fuck, better brace yourself for the end of the world. Jackson, get ready because someone is probably dying. Octavia, Echo, be ready to run because who knows if they are going to try and kill you. Actually—” </p><p>Emori cuts him off suddenly (thankfully – he doesn’t need any more enemies), standing up as well and walking around the table until she’s beside him. She places a hand on his arm, looking at him briefly with fond exasperation before turning her attention to everyone else. “We’re having a baby.” </p><p>There’s the expected initial cry of excitement, several inhales of shock, a hint of skepticism, but he finds his eyes settling on Madi. He expects to see the same excitement from before, only multiplied now that she can enthuse with everyone, but instead, he spots a smirk. <i>What the fuck?</i></p><p>“You knew!” Jordan accuses her suddenly, standing up from his position across from her.  </p><p>“Just this afternoon!” she cries back, apparently following Jordan’s train of thought and equally as invested in it.  </p><p>“Lies!” Jordan whips back, reminding him vividly and uncomfortably of his namesake.  </p><p>Before he can comment on it, though, his attention is drawn to Hope beside the man, looking at Madi critically. “You could have had insider information.” Her eyes flick to Clarke pointedly.  </p><p>Madi opens her mouth in what is clearly outrage, but Octavia speaks before she gets a word out, “No, Jackson would have been the doctor they went to. Besides, Clarke wouldn’t have said anything. She takes the whole doctor/patient thing seriously.”  </p><p>“Wait,” Raven interjects, “You were in on it too?”  </p><p>“In on what?!” he asks the room at large, not making any effort to hide his irritation. This was supposed to be Emori and his moment, damnit.  </p><p>Neither of them answers him, of course; Octavia just shrugs in Raven’s direction while Raven scowls back, “How does that work? You were on the list?”  </p><p>“Really?” Octavia asks in surprise, glancing quickly at Levitt.  </p><p>“What fucking list?”  </p><p>“I think…” Emori says thoughtfully, “they were betting on which of us would have a kid first.” </p><p>When he meets Emori’s eyes, she appears more amused than offended, which helps to soothe his irritation. Then he looks over at Madi, part of him expecting her to be sheepish, but instead, she just smirks back at him and the rest of his annoyance vanishes.  </p><p>“Well played, kid,” he tells her, proud that she managed to pull something like this off. At least until he remembers her excitement from earlier. After that, he’s still impressed, but there’s a somewhat bitter quality to it as well. “So, all the squealing earlier…?”  </p><p>“Totally genuine,” she promises quickly, starting to look a little unsure, “I wanted to win obviously, but it was more about everything else. It’s going to be fun having a baby around to play with.” </p><p>He nods his head, accepting her answer as truthful and moving on— being the adult he’s supposed to be learning to be. That doesn’t last for long as he takes in everyone else around the table. “And no one thought to include me?” he asks, genuinely offended. That kind of insensitive entertainment is right up his alley. “I so would have won.”  </p><p>“You were a part of it,” Madi tells him like he should already know and understand.  </p><p>“But apparently, so was I,” Octavia adds in before he can respond.  </p><p>“Yeah, how exactly did that work?” Raven asks Madi, clearly a little miffed at being played.  </p><p>“It worked as long as you didn’t know you were a part of it,” Madi explains.  </p><p>“You were in there too,” Jordan adds, being his typical helpful unhelpful self.  </p><p>“What? With who?”  </p><p>He grimaces like he’s suddenly realized that he shouldn’t have said anything, “Raven and an unknown partner.”  </p><p>“What the hell?”  </p><p>“Who was actually in the running?” Emori questions, looking like she could burst out laughing any moment.  </p><p>For a second, it seems like no one is going to answer— probably having learned from Jordan’s mistake— but eventually, Hope speaks up, the one of them who’s presumably the least afraid of offending people. “There was Murphy and Emori obviously, Bellamy and Clarke, Octavia and Levitt, Bellamy and Echo, Echo and Gabriel—” </p><p>“Did you just throw all our names into a fucking hat and see what kind of combinations it would make?” Murphy cuts her off, not needing to hear anymore, and sincerely glad that Emori was the only one he was matched with.  </p><p>“We wanted to have a wide selection for people to choose from…” Jorden explains with the sheepishness he originally expected.  </p><p>“It was really just down to the two,” Madi continues, saving the poor kid from his own embarrassment, “Bellamy and Clarke, then Emori and Murphy with almost everyone going for Bellamy and Clarke.”  </p><p>“Hey!” Raven interjects, “I went for Octavia and Levitt. I wasn’t discounting Bellamy and Clarke’s delusion either.” She turns to look at him, “I just didn’t see you with kids, sorry.”  </p><p>He’s going to tell her that he didn’t either, but Madi continues, turning to a stunned Bellamy and Clarke before he gets there. “I wanted to bet on you two. I clearly want that, but it just felt… weird betting on a baby that I’ll end up calling my little brother or sister.”  </p><p>“Seriously, that’s what seems weird about this to you?!” he asks her incredulously, eyeing everyone in the room. They are all fucking lunatics. </p><p>“Don’t worry,” Clarke tells Madi, trying for sincere, but ending somewhere between horrified and amused— okay, so maybe there're a few sane people. “I’d honestly rather you not bet on it.”  </p><p>“Wouldn’t we all,” Murphy mutters darkly. Not willing to admit that this is the best outcome that he could have possibly hoped for.  </p><p>“Plus,” Madi says happily again, “putting my bet on them met that I’d win either way. One side, I win the bet, on the other, I get a sibling.”  </p><p>“And what exactly was the prize?” Bellamy asks, speaking up for the first time, but no one will answer, not even when Clarke joins his quest to find out. None of them seem to be willing to budge, which means it must be something good.  </p><p>He bides his time, waiting until the meal has finished and talk of bets and babies has disappeared before sliding up behind Madi. “So, what’s the prize?”  </p><p>“I can’t tell you!” she responds in a fervent whisper, looking around like they are discussing incredibly classified information.  </p><p>“Come on, you won because of me. I think the least you can do is tell me what I won you,” he tried to guilt her, but her lips stay firmly shut as she glares at him. Okay, different tactic than he thinks, leaning back against the wall and surveying her closely. “What exactly were the specifications to win?”  </p><p>“What do you mean?” </p><p>“Baby made in Sanctum or baby born on sanctum?” he asks with a smirk, “because you only won with one of those conditions.”  </p><p>Her eyes widen as understanding hits her. “Nooo,” she complains, “We decided that Diyoza wouldn’t have counted, which means…”  </p><p>“Baby made on Sanctum. Sorry kid, you’re out of luck.”  </p><p>He starts to walk away but she quickly grabs hold of his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “No, wait, don’t say anything.”  </p><p>“Are you saying you want to cheat?” he asks in mock horror.  </p><p>“Murphy.” </p><p>“Fine, fine, I’ll keep your dirty secrets,” he tells her with an eye roll, not even hesitation for a Monet when she hugs him in thanks.  </p><p>He watches her go back to talking with Jordan and Hope, a big grin on her face, feeling an odd sense of peace. Emori said it this morning, Clarke pretty much said it this afternoon, but for the first time, he feels like he might not only be able to do this but that he might actually be okay at it. For all that Madi is a happy kid, bright and bubbly despite what she’s experienced, she doesn’t trust easily. Like Clarke said earlier, it took her time and effort to earn that trust, and it’s been the same with him.  </p><p>She’ll hug Clarke, of course, and Bellamy too, but other than those two, he seems to be the only one she truly trusts. The weight of that realization settles over him, and he doesn’t feel crushed by it. Looking back, it’s easy to see that he’s had it for a lot longer than he thought.  </p><p>Nearly two years later, when Bellamy and Clarke’s daughter comes screaming into this world, the second of their group to have a kid, he meets Madi’s eye and grins but doesn’t say anything. While the trust she placed in him isn’t perhaps the most important, it’s something he still cherishes.  </p><p>After all, it’s what first convinced him that he’s got this dad thing down.</p>
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